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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752717">Who Watches the Wanderers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hozgor/pseuds/Hozgor'>Hozgor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shantae (Video Games), Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Dark Comedy, Gen, Introspection, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:21:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hozgor/pseuds/Hozgor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rorschach finally had his moment to expose true evil. Before he can deliver the news himself, he is ripped from Earth and thrown into an unknown land with magic, monsters, and adventure. Our masked moral absolutist needs to get to the bottom of what's going on- and perhaps stop an even greater threat which arises in this new realm. All the while, he will struggle against self-doubt, mischief, and the laws of reality breaking down in a way he can't quite place. No one ever said being a hero was easy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Out of the Ice, Into the Sand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Rorschach</span> </strong>
</p><p>                So, this is it. We all stand staring at screens. The dim arctic base flickers with overlapping news reports. Overpaid anchors talk over each other in a panicked symphony. Words drown each other out. Can only catch snippets of horror. The body count is in the millions. Images of mangled people. Mothers draped bloody over still children. Destroyed buildings. Fragments of alien horror strewn about like glitter in a whore’s bedroom. Fears of invasion. People going mad. Nightmares abound. Ineffectual leaders offer empty condolences. Their false promises of unity all sound off at once. Minutes must have gone by. No one can look away.</p><p>                Veidt is backlit by warping lights of CRT monitors like grim messiah, proud smile stretching across his face. “I did it,” he whispers, smiling to himself. <strong>“I <em>did it!”</em></strong> He paces across room, gesticulating wildly in disgusting victory.</p><p>                “I saved Earth from Hell. Next, I’ll help her towards <em>utopia.</em> It is as Ramses said: ‘Canaan is devastated. Ashkelon is fallen, Gezer is ruined…” I tune out. No reason to entertain gloating megalomaniac. Hard to believe we once fought next to this man. Can’t believe we couldn’t see this sooner. The Comedian once again knows more than we ever will. Hell of a punchline to leave on. Ms. Juspeczyk staggers forward to confront Veidt. Tears pour down her face. </p><p>                “Wait a minute, <em>next!?</em> After what <em>you </em>did? You can’t get away with that!” Adrian finishes his smug monologue to look back at us. Seems nonchalant.</p><p>                “Can’t get away with it? Will you expose me, undoing the peace millions <em>died</em> for?”</p><p>                Absolutely.</p><p>                “<em>Kill </em>me, risking subsequent investigation?”</p><p>                Been in prison once. Willing to do it again.</p><p>                “Morally, you’re in checkmate. Like Blake.”</p><p>                I respect Blake. Still, takes more than dead men to stop monsters.</p><p>                “Let’s compromise.”</p><p>                Never. Ms. Juspeczyk makes her feelings known.</p><p>                <em>“Whaat…?” </em>Understand your terms, Adrian. Will call your bluff. They’ll never find you dead in polar snow. We’ll stop this madness.</p><p>                <strong>“Logically, I’m afraid he’s right.” </strong></p><p>                Jon…?</p><p>                <strong>“On Mars, you demonstrated life’s <em>value. </em>If we would preserve life <em>here, </em>we must remain silent.” </strong></p><p>                Can’t believe what I’m hearing. Their emotions are running high. Not maintaining clear heads.</p><p>                “Never tell <em>anyone?”</em> Laurie blubbers. “W-we really have to buy this?” Pauses to sniffle. Covers her eyes. She’s afraid to look upon Veidt. “Jesus, he was right. All we did was stop him from saving earth. Jesus.” Dan glances around and stutters, finding something interesting in the arm of his suit.</p><p>                “How… how can <em>humans</em> make decisions like <em>this?</em> <em>We’re</em> damned if we stay quiet, <em>Earth’s</em> damned if we don’t. We…” He falters. No, Dan. Don’t give in. “Okay. Okay, count me in. We say nothing.”</p><p>                <em>We.</em> Not I. We. They’re all doing it. Their moral fortitude fails. I look at Veidt. Still smiling. Empty blue orbs stare back. Nothing to search for. No remorse. Gaze of a madman. Face of an honest American, eyes of a murderer. They won’t look at it. The man is a virus. I should not have relied on them anyway. Too complacent. Too <em>soft.</em> They’ll return home, reaping the benefits of genocide. Peace built on a <em>lie.</em> <em>“Joking,</em> of course,” I finally announce. Can feel gaze of room. Door’s right there. No point in staying here.</p><p>                “Rorschach…?” Dan asks my back. I can hear the notes of fear. “Rorschach, <em>wait!</em> Where are you going? This is too <em>big</em> to be hard-assed about! We have to compromise- “</p><p>                “<em>No.”</em> The door squeaks while opening. Metal is cool. Can feel it through gloves. “Not even in the face of Armageddon.” It swings behind me noisily. “<strong><em>Never </em></strong>compromise.” Shoes click against floor. Can feel the pressure in my skull. Feel teeth grinding beneath mask. Traitors. Every single one of them. Communists. Vermin. No right to call themselves heroes. Cowering beneath the dead to hide their knowledge. So many lives. Parasites and deviants among the fallen, for certain, but even one innocent American is too many. No excuse.</p><p>                It takes some minutes to find exit again. Facility is a wonder of engineering, even. Wasted potential as the base of a destroyer. The Antichrist. He wants to deceive the whole world. Won’t last. Even he knows. Journal will be published <em>tomorrow.</em> One can only tie up so many loose ends. Air outside is cold. Liquid in mask becoming less flexible. Blizzard whips at my body. The hover transports are right where we left them. Hope the Owlship starts. Might be hard to find if buried in snow.</p><p>                <strong>“Where are you going?” </strong>My blood freezes. It’s not the cold. He could have done something about this. The man who can do anything. He chose to do nothing. Probably saw it coming. Funny. Only now he pretends to care about humanity. He’s come to stop <em>me. </em>Jon, you bastard.</p><p>                “Back to Owlship. Back to America. Evil must be punished. People must be told.” Hands grip the holds on hover transport. Primal fear lurks in back of head. Motions are performative now. Not going to matter. The Atomic Man will kill me. He holds his hand up, as though threatening me. Like I’ll stop. Step off transport. Go back inside. Warm up. Pretend this never happened.</p><p>                <strong>“Rorschach…”</strong> Hear my name. Sounds strange coming from his mouth. Like many speaking at once. Know what he’ll do. Not like this. Go out on my own terms. <strong>“You know I can’t let you do that.”</strong> Man facing down God. No battle to be fought. Still a victory to be attained. I let out a growl. My hands come to my face. Feel the latex, stiff against my gloves.</p><p>                “Of course. Must protect Veidt’s new utopia.” Feel every inch of face coming off. Wind mauls my skin. Flecks of snow sticking to razor burnt stubble. Air is too crisp. Dry.</p><p>                “<em>Well?</em> What are you waiting for?” Stinging at corners of eyes. Wind howls. Hat stolen in the breeze. Breath picking up. I’m <em>not </em>panicking. Throat getting tight. Plenty of air. All hard to breathe. Osterman unmoved. Neither hot nor cold. Expression unchanging. Hand still raised. No sound. The world around makes no difference to him. The indestructible man.</p><p>                <strong>“Rorschach…” </strong>Voice is gentle. <em>Pity. </em>Don’t want your goddamn pity. <em>Rorschach</em> will live. Something warm streams down my cheeks. No. Not crying. Vision bleary through snow. Through stinging wind. Tears. Walter Kovacs will die. Face is flushing from cold. Heart hammering drums of war in my ears. Blood runs under the surface of my skin. <em>He’s hesitating. </em>Breath fogging up in freezing wind. Not enough oxygen in Antarctica to breathe. Breaths getting faster. Jon Osterman is blue silhouette framed against scintillating lights of sky. Saline freezing to cheeks. Hope what I’m doing here matters.</p><p>                <em>“DO IT!” </em>Voice comes out a scratchy scream. Hardly recognize it. All animal fury and… fear. Animals. All of us. Face gripped in fingers. It’s all I have left. Animals with luck. Pretending. Staring at the blot and trying to make something of it. Means nothing. Osterman makes decision. Start feeling warm. Too warm. Every piece heats up at once. Something hot stabs back of eyes. Stomach churning.  Every muscle contracts and snaps at once. Not enough time to vomit. Everything’s red. Too bright. Not the aurora. <em>Me. </em>Painful. Can’t already be in hell. Too light on feet. No longer touching ground. Maybe ground is relative. Like Jon always says. Goodbye, world.</p><p>Hope I took enough evil down with me.</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                Thrown. That is the sensation. Tumbling end over end. Wind rushes past me. No longer cold. No longer hot. Pain lingers, though dull. Eyes shut tight. Uncertain. Doesn’t last long. <strong><em>Splash.</em></strong> All around me at once. Water. Wasn’t expecting it. Choking. Water is tangy. Salt. Rushing into lungs. Thrashing furiously. Eyes open. Bubbles everywhere. Blue water. Try to scream. Breathe in more water. Look up. Bright. Sunlight. Start swimming towards it. Fingers still gripped tight around something. My face. Swim up, you fool.</p><p>                Finally break the water’s surface. Cough. Water coming out in warm, phlegm-filled waves. More coughing. Start swimming. Limbs heavy. Vision blurring again. Harder. Need to get to land. Feet touch something solid. Sprint until waves no longer touch ankles. Collapse forward. More coughing. More water leaving lungs. Something hot against face. Coarse. Itchy. Sand? Finally remember urge to vomit. No use stopping it.</p><p>                Cough up last of water. Roll onto side, panting. That was awful. Vision is finally adjusting. Beach. I’ve washed up on a beach like a bloated carcass on the banks of the Hudson. It’s very fitting. Walter Kovacs is a dead man, after all. I look up again. The sky is an innocent shade of blue. It doesn’t choke with the grey excretions of a teeming rat den. There are no airships flown for the interests of pornographers nor the private jets of the opulent and perverse liberal plutocrats. The air is just as pure. Sun baked sand and the aroma of fragrant wildflowers combine into a calming scent that helps to steady my breathing. Maybe this is Heaven.</p><p>                Then I glance over at the vomit. Maybe not.</p><p>                I’m soaked like a drowned cat, but alive. That’s a mystery. My hat washes up at my feet while I ponder it. It’s heavy with water. Try to remember the facts of the case. Adrian Veidt a mass murderer. Ten years or more planning world unification. Expected us to find out. Spent time killing all who helped him. Proxies within proxies to plug leaks. Untold millions spent on genetic engineering. Propagandizing. Secrecy. Lets us live. Probably wanted someone to know of victory. Jon makes decision to kill me. But I’m not dead.</p><p>                Doesn’t add up. Dots are missing somewhere.</p><p>                Osterman sees the future. Lets Veidt’s plan unfold. Something about tachyons? Maybe just an excuse. Wish I had journal. Need somewhere to write thoughts. Jon knows I will tell. Confronts me. Gives me chance to forfeit morals. Knows I won’t. Token gesture or taunt? Uses his nuclear powers… doesn’t kill me. Did he teleport me? Nowhere on Earth he could keep me from exposing Adrian’s plot. It doesn’t make sense. Nowhere on Earth. Nowhere… on…</p><p>                <em>What if I’m not on Earth?</em></p><p>                That’s an absurd thought, but one that settles into my gut the more I consider it. Jon’s powerful, but even he doesn’t know <em>everything. </em>Where could he have sent me? Wished I’d paid more attention when Juspeczyk complained about marital issues. Might have insight into Osterman’s personal projects. Maybe studied other worlds. Probably not. Preposterous idea. Sitting here’s not going to do me much good. Not if I want answers.</p><p>                I pull my hat from the grip of the wet sand, dusting off the debris. My hand raises, unclenching the vice like hold it had on the mask. My face. It’s still wet. Smells like sea salt and brine, but not unbearable. The hat goes atop my head, dripping into hair that gingerly clings to my scalp and face. Flick my wrist to shake most of the water off the latex. Hat comes off again. Kovacs may be a dead man. Rorschach isn’t. With practiced ease, my face comes on. The liquid inside has warmed up again, allowing it to flow freely through the material. Hat finishes the ensemble. I am reborn. I am home.</p><p>                Virgin beachside beams at me as I turn to greet it. Warm yellow sand runs mostly undisturbed up to gently swaying vegetation further up along the coast. Palm trees dot the skyline, a friendly summer breeze whistling between them. There is something in the distance. Angular. Slight motion to it. Waiting. Looks like the outline to a town. Too small to be a city. Perhaps has small town ideals and friendly people, unmolested by the festering rot of inattentive cosmopolitan debauchery. Looks like there’s a lighthouse not too far from it either. Might be more worthwhile to ask the locals before breaking into anywhere.</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                It feels about a quarter mile walk, if I had to guess. Stomach is growling, the needy beast. I reach into a pocket and pull out one of Dreiberg’s sugar cubes. Wrapped in plastic. Protected from seawater. I tear it open and pop it into my mouth. Nothing but sweet. Chew slowly. Helps purge the taste of bile, brine, and baked beans. Doesn’t do much for hunger though. Might have to get something to eat in town. No money might be a problem. Not above doing chores for a meal at least. Honest day’s work is fine by me.</p><p>                Reach entrance of town. Sandy, but plenty of green like the beach. Must be an oasis. A gate made of sandstone and iron looms a story and a half over head. A man bedecked in red stares at the path where I approach. He’s got an expression like a dopey hound and muscles like a biker on steroids. Head adorned with a red cap and a toga-like tunic to match. Gold bands adorn his wrists. He finally notices my approach. “Heya friend, welcome to Scuttle Town,” he greets. “Ya got an interesting face. If you’re not a monster, head to the visitor center and have a look around!” Slow speech pattern. Deep voice. Too wide smile. Might possibly be retarded. Will keep in mind. But speaks English, if accented. Good sign.</p><p>                “Sure. Thanks for tip.” Monsters. Hm. Superstitious town, maybe?</p><p>                I finally get a look inside. That garb tipped me off, but I’m not sure what I was expecting. The buildings here are very colorful, despite mostly being made of sandstone. Red and beige feature prominently, with some wooden signs. Painted, from the looks of it. People mill about in the streets. Almost looks like something out of Arabian Nights. Men wearing vests and loose pants. Women with short tops and loose pants or skirts. Immodest all around. Might just be heat. Still, should keep on guard for possible promiscuity. It breeds corruption.</p><p>                Getting a few looks. People whispering to each other. Let them. If their fear is misplaced, then so be it. If it’s deserved, then all the better I have a head start. Something tells me my reputation has not carried here, to this… Scuttle Town. There’s a sign on my left side. Looks like a question mark imposed over some building. Might be information. No words on signs. Might mean illiteracy. Unfortunate, but unsurprising. I decide to head in. A girl with aqua hair sits behind a modern style desk. Her eyes are bright. Wearing business casual, cut off at the midriff along with a skirt. Starting to notice a pattern here. Her expression seems to falter when she notices me before pulling up a thin veneer of politeness.</p><p>                “Welcome to the Scuttle Town Visitor’s Center,” she announces with the enthusiasm of a senator in the middle of a scandal. “What can I help you with?”</p><p>                “New in town. Need a job. Place to stay. Something to eat.”</p><p>                “Ah. Alright then.” She seems to relax a little. “Well… you don’t look much like any artisan<em> I’ve</em> ever seen, so I guess you can check the <strong>BOUNTY BOARD</strong> there. Mayor Scuttlebutt is always looking for adventurers to get things done around town. Not a whole lot’s been happening recently, though. Might just get something like delivery boy.” Adventurers. Looks like I’ll have something to do around here. State sponsored too, apparently. Wonder what Blake would think of this place. I look over the board.</p><p>                “Keene Act doesn’t apply here I take it?”</p><p>                “Never heard of them. I go to the dance parlor all the time, so I’d be one of the first to know if any new acts came through here.”</p><p>                “Never mind.” I leaf through the notices tacked to the spongy board. Crate moving for the shopkeeper. Engineer wanted in Mimic’s workshop. <em>Giant squid finder…? </em>I suppress a shudder. Too soon, I guess. Not much of interest until I find a page, yellowed and frayed at its edges, pinned beneath every other document on the board. I look over it carefully. The ink on it is smudged, but legible.</p><p>                <strong>“MONSTER DEN ON MUD BOG ISLAND. PERNICIOUS POPULATION OF HAUNTS, ZOMBIES, AND CREATURES OF DARK MAGIC. VERY DANGEROUS. 750 GEMS TO CLEAR AND THE ETERNAL <strike>BANQUET BUDDY</strike> GRATITUDE OF MAYOR SCUTTLEBUTT.” </strong></p><p>That’s a hell of a job. Town is strangely anachronistic. Modern accoutrements but belief in supernatural. Gems as currency. Desert. Arabian clothing. Hair dye too, apparently. Maybe Jon put me somewhere in the Middle East. But that means there might be Reds here. <strong>MUD BOG ISLAND</strong>, though? Doesn’t sound very Arabian. Or Russian. Maybe a local name, but why do they speak English here? Too many questions. Still hungry. Might as well take it.</p><p>                “How about this one?” Her eyes widen.</p><p>                “No one’s tried to take that job in <em>years. </em>Everyone who left for it never came back. You’d have to be nuts to want to go out there.” The idea of zombies seems far-fetched. Dark magic, too. Maybe the work of some sick geneticist. Maybe Adrian’s behind this place. Would believe it at this point. Need to keep eyes peeled.</p><p>                “Taking it.”</p><p>                “Uhm… well… if you really want to, I can’t <em>stop you, </em>I guess. If you want the job, Mayor Scuttlebutt is usually sitting somewhere in town. Or he might be up near the<strong> ROYAL PALACE</strong>. Probably in town today, though. If you need something to eat, there’s places in the market. The <strong>DANCE PARLOR</strong> also sells food, but that’s not what most people go there for. If you’re looking for somewhere to stay, you could probably buy some materials to build your own place after you finish that job. Is that all you need?” Not sure she’ll have much useful to tell me. Too self-absorbed. Probably better off asking townspeople.</p><p>                “Yes.”</p><p>                “Great.” Her nose wrinkles. “By the way, uh, check out the <strong>BATH HOUSE </strong>before you see the mayor. You smell like a barrel full of fish butts. Also, don’t forget to visit the <strong>SAVE ROOM </strong>to keep a record of your adventure so far. Could come in handy.” Record? Some kind of government registry? Sounds suspicious. Might stop over and look. Possible evidence of surveillance state. Looks like <strong>TOWN MAP </strong>brochures next to the exit. I grab one on the way out.</p><p>                I study the unfolded map. Care was obviously put into the design. Detailed accounts of every building in town and its function. No street names. Locations are described in relation to each other. My initial hunch was correct. Town is small. The populace is also on the light side. Tight knit community. Gossip could travel fast. Could be advantageous. Everyone might know each other. Might prove to be problem. I’m so engrossed in the reading I fail to hear the rapid footfalls in the sand.</p><p>                Someone runs right into me, crumpling the map against my chest. Quickly lean on my back foot. Grit teeth from twisted ankle. The paper warps in my grip as I crush it. Lower the map and appraise whoever ran into me. A girl only a bit shorter than I am. Long purple hair tied up in a ponytail is the most striking feature. Tan skin. Her ears are pointed like something out of a fairy tale, maybe a nightmare depending on who’s asked. She’s adorned with tight fitting dancer’s garb. Slightly sheer.</p><p>                “Ow… oh- omigosh, I didn’t mean to run into you, I’m <em>so…</em> sorry…?” She tilts her head up to look at my face. Doesn’t look like she’s afraid, but something pensive washes over her features. “I… uh…” She springs to her feet. “Didn’t mean to run into you.”</p><p>                “Maybe slow down next time. Might do good to take in surroundings.”</p><p>                “Right…”</p><p>                “Know where the mayor is?”</p><p>                “Oh, yeah. Mayor Scuttlebutt’s having lunch outside the <strong>GALLERY.</strong> He got a <em>really</em> big meal. He probably won’t be leaving for another hour at least.”</p><p>                “Hrm. Noted. Thanks for information.”</p><p>                “Yeah. Hey, do you need- “ A female voice interrupts the conversation from somewhere in the crowd behind us.</p><p>                “<em>Shantae! </em>There you are! We already have a table! C’mon!”</p><p>                “Oh! Coming Sky! Hey, listen, I gotta go. Sorry again about bowling into you Mister…”</p><p>                “Rorschach.”</p><p>                “Raw shark?”</p><p>                “<em>No, Rorschach.” </em></p><p>                “Gotcha. Alright, see ya!” Shantae runs past me, joining a group sat at a table on the other side of the street. I’m done with distractions for today. There are too many suspicious factors at play, but no signs of obvious evil here. Not yet. Maybe the local governance will change my mind. The world’s been running out of honest men. The most despicable of liars take office. They sit on thrones of gold and blood, promising change and delivering misery. Too busy reveling in power with cocaine and prostitutes to address the concerns of the people who vote them into positions of leadership. It’s a disgrace. This place seems to run well enough. Hope I’m wrong about its leadership.</p><p>                Gallery comes up while I’m pondering this. There’s a few tables set up outside. Most are empty. One catches my attention. Food covers most of it. A man sits in a chair on one end, carelessly shoveling meat into his gullet. A turban covers thinning white hair. Face is bald and fat, cheeks puffed out like an overstuffed chipmunk sinking beady eyes in even further. Body doesn’t fare much better: corpulent with ill-fitting clothes. Posture slightly hunched and head down. Reeks of insecurity and meekness. Probably fancies himself a sultan. I approach and clear my throat. He startles, gagging on the food before coughing and quickly swallowing.</p><p>                “Mayor Scuttlebutt?”</p><p>                “A-Are you new here?” Voice is small. Quavering. Unassured. My predictions were correct.</p><p>                “Yes. Looking for a job. This one.” I hand him the yellowed flyer. He seems to recognize it before even reading it.</p><p>                “Oh. <em>Oh. </em>Whew, that’s a relief. You have a scary voice. I thought you were a monster for a second there.” Again, comes talk of monsters. Surprisingly casual about it. “It’s… been a while since anyone’s wanted to take on this one. Oh, uh, you can sit down if you want. You can even have that <strong>BENTO BOX</strong> there. I had too many chocolates before lunch.” Bento box. Hm. Isn’t that Japanese? Little paper box. Full of rice balls, cooked fish, half an apple. A square meal, by the looks of it. Been too long since I’ve had one. Even comes with chopsticks. Faster to eat with hands.</p><p>                “So, what’s this about undead and dark magic?” Need to lift mask to eat. Rice is pleasantly sticky. Bland, but filling.</p><p>                “Wow, you must be <em>really</em> new around here. Mud Bog Island is a scary swamp polluted by dark magic. The mud comes to life and tries to eat anyone who walks through! The gate to the underworld is there. That’s why the island is the way it is.”</p><p>                “Gate to the underworld…?” Perhaps a highly religious society. Might be some sort of holy site. People afraid to tread there. Monsters used as excuse to keep common man away.</p><p>                “Yes, but that isn’t the problem. There’s this old <strong>GENIE TOMB</strong> on the island. Half buried in the muck, but monsters take up residence in it. The island is a while away, but we think that old tomb somehow spills into the ocean. So horrible things sometimes wash up on the beach. Those things wander around and make all these ghastly sounds until they’re dealt with! Makes it hard to get beauty sleep.” Finished off the fish.</p><p>                “You want me to kill monsters, then.”</p><p>                “That’s what the flyer says.”</p><p>                “And this isn’t violation of Keene Act?”</p><p>                “I don’t know any actors named Keene. Should I know them?”</p><p>                “<em>No, </em>the Keene Act. Outlawed costumed vigilantes.”</p><p>                “Doesn’t seem like much of a point to outlawing vigilantes. There’s no crime in Scuttle Town.”</p><p>                …What? No crime? Most brazen lie I’ve ever heard. Nowhere is free from crime.</p><p>                “Bold claim, there’s no crime here.”</p><p>                “I never said that. I said there’s no crime <em>in </em>Scuttle Town. We do occasionally have problems with pirates. Well, <em>a</em> pirate usually.” Guess pirates aren’t popular here as back home. I remember seeing this comic at my local newsstand. ‘Tales of the Black Freighter,’ if I recall. Never read it. Never enough time to get lost in fantasy land while real problems exist. I wonder how superhero comics would do here.</p><p>                “How do police fare against pirates?”</p><p>                “Police… <em>oh</em> you mean the guards. They’re… better against monsters than pirates. But that’s why we have the Guardian Genie.” Story is getting more preposterous by the second.</p><p>                <em>“Guardian Genie?” </em></p><p>                “Yeah, Shantae. She’s saved the town five times now. Six if you count when she stopped that island from destroying all of Sequin Land. I do.” Shantae? That purple haired dancer girl I ran into. She’s the protector of this town? Seems unlikely.</p><p>                “She’s a fighter?”</p><p>                “A <em>great</em> fighter. Between the magic dances, acrobatics, and hair whipping, no one can keep up!” Apple is tart and sweet. Crisp, too. Wish I had more time to prepare meals. Getting off track, though.</p><p>                “Will keep it in mind. How do I get to Mud Bog Island?”</p><p>                “Someone at the <strong>DOCKS </strong>should be able to take you. They probably won’t come back for you though. You could also get a boat and a <strong>MAP OF MUD BOG ISLAND, </strong>if you know how to sail. If you show them that flyer, they’ll know what to do.”</p><p>                “Thanks for advice.”</p><p>                “Also, you’ll probably need something to hold any of the stuff you find out in the world. Here, have this <strong>HANDY SACK</strong> to hold your belongings.” <strong>You can press SELECT at any time to bring up the inventory.</strong></p><p>                …Where did that come from? Was that me? Could have sworn I heard music. It looks like a little cloth bag, smaller than something you’d be handed at a gas station. Not going to hold much. On a hunch, I look inside. Blackness. Can’t see the bottom. Odd. I drop the town map inside. Disappears. Reach in. Map in fingers immediately.</p><p>                This is wrong. Osterman might be able to say something about this. He’s not here.</p><p>                “…Thanks?”</p><p>                “My pleasure! I’m glad someone’s finally dealing with the Genie Tomb.”</p><p>                “One more thing. Anywhere to get a <strong>JOURNAL?</strong>”</p><p>                “Have one right here. I <em>was</em> going to use it to log my diet, but I kept forgetting to do it. I like eating what I want to.” I can see that. “They’re apparently all the rage nowadays. Adventurers use them to log quests or some such. It sounds exciting! Being able to write down directions so you don’t forget them. Writing neat little lore entries in the pages. Detailing character relationships with- “</p><p>                “Understood. Going to leave now. Prefer not to waste time when doing job.”</p><p>                “By the way, you look a bit haggard. Maybe you should stop by the bath house to heal your wounds.” Bath house doubles as apothecary here. Interesting. “And don’t forget to visit the save room before you shove off!” I leave the table and the fat man occupying it.</p><p>                The streets here are surprisingly clean. People look happy, making pleasant idle chatter with one another. There’s not a bruised or downtrodden gaze in sight. No one here is drowning under the weight of crushing misery and perversity. For all the talk of monsters, there’s no sense of horror. Oddly pleasant. Perhaps they’re united in a cause.</p><p>                I think of Adrian Veidt’s bloodthirsty smile.</p><p>                Success here looks to be despite its leadership, not because of it. The one guard I met as well as the mayor appear incompetent. Everyone’s so unconcerned. If that bounty board’s anything to go by, it isn’t perfect here, but it looks damn near close. Certainly, it feels like everyone keeps their chin up. Vices might be piled under friendly facades and a mutual fear of the outside world. Of monsters. The vermin do not scurry into the shadows here. They’re all outside the home. Curious as to what kind of door is keeping them out. Here, no blood clogs the sewers and foams about the waists of indigents and lechers. Instead, the gore must pile on high from outside. It runs from rivers in a violent cyclone, battering against the walls of stability until the windows are frothing red and the cracks in the glass give way, drowning the house inside. Too insular for its own good.</p><p>                And there’s the bath house. Smells of minerals and soap. I step inside. Very humid. Woman wearing a towel on her head hums to herself as she pours water on some coals near the back of the establishment. Steam billows up. There are stalls about, as well as a large central pool. Looks to be hot given the vapor coming off the water. Would be unpleasant if clothes weren’t already damp. She comes forward to greet me.</p><p>                “Welcome, stranger, to the Scuttle Town Bath House! Our herb infused healing waters will relax your body and work the pain from your wounds. We also have a limited selection of <strong>POTIONS </strong>if you’re interested in buying.” Potions. Healing water. Sounds like the dope fueled ramblings of a New Age hippie grifter. Wonder when she’ll start lecturing about chakras. “The bath is free to use, so stay as long as you like. We also offer laundry services if you’re interested, free of charge.”</p><p>                “Anywhere private to bathe?”</p><p>                “Of course. There are a few rooms on the west end if you need some alone time. If you want your laundry done, just leave it on the tray outside the stall and it will be ready for you after fifteen minutes.”</p><p>                “Understood.” I head toward one of the stalls, fishing the two remaining sugar cubes from my pocket and throwing them into the sack. Still not sure how much it fits. Head into the stall. Hat comes off. Undress quickly. Face is last to come off. Put mask and hat into sack. Both fit. Rest of clothes balled up and put in tray outside. I gather up the journal. Comes with included pen. How thoughtful. I get into water. A face stares back at me through the rippling water. Clipped red hair. Baggy eyes. Freckles along cheeks and bridge of nose, crooked from fights with scumbags. Chin stubble growing back unevenly. Hate looking at it. Doesn’t feel real.</p><p>                Finally have a place to collect my thoughts. Something about writing on a page makes everything feel solid. Tangible. True.</p><p>
  <strong>Rorschach’s Journal.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>November 2<sup>nd</sup>, 1985. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                First entry, new journal. Have had hell of a day. Dreiberg and I confronted Veidt at Karnak. Antarctic base. Tried to ambush him but saw us coming. He is fast. Very fast. Wasn’t Ozymandias for nothing. Revealed to us his plan. Captured artists and scientists. Took them to island nation. Wasteful millions spent on genetic engineering. Teleportation. Designing an ‘alien.’ Created from brain of dead psychic. Killed Edward Blake, A.K.A, Comedian, for finding out plan. Gave Jon Osterman’s associates cancer. Fed info to journalists bloated by smug sense of ‘integrity.’ Blame beloved Doctor Manhattan for giving us fragile animals radiation poisoning. Jon leaves. Russians take opportunity to enact Communist expansion. Kill all loose ends. Public panic arises. Teleport giant psychic monster into center of New York. Kills creature and millions. Blame is placed on alien invaders. People driven mad. World peace declared on a lie. Bullshit promises like aftermath of Great War. ‘Never be another war again,’ they said. It can’t hold.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                I really learned where my friends stand in all of this. Gutless pretenders, all of them. Dan doesn’t believe Veidt at first. Doesn’t believe anyone’s that evil. I do. Because I know. Juspeczyk and Jon finally show. Think Jon will give the bastard what he deserves. Instead agrees to keep quiet. Everyone else follows. Veidt believes us at moral stalemate. Not so. Announce intent to expose him. Jon intercepts me while leaving. Won’t let me tell the truth. Believed he would kill me. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Maybe he did.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                No longer in festering cityscape. No more destitute and dying, clawing their way from the groundswell of the blighted concrete jungle. Thousands of fluorescently lit graves with their walking dead now stilled. No memories in their heads anymore. Just rotting gray matter and meat. Rapists and power-mad assaulters feel a world away. Cries of the Big Apple now little more than distant echoes, if anything at all. Dead still. The truth will prevail. Death brings unity and clearness. They’ll find the ones responsible. Adrian Veidt will hang from the ropy threads of revealed misdeeds. They will exult as the air is strangled from him, face turning blue and stiffened tongue jutting from lips as the noose creaks under his weight. When his windpipe is crushed and his blood has gone cobalt, the hangman shall release him, and he will fall into the blackened pit of his own treachery. Hell awaits, Ozymandias. </strong>
</p><p>                <strong>As for me, I’ve found myself somewhere strange. Some desert oasis town. Not exactly sure where. Thought it might be Middle East, but theory grows weaker by the hour. Odd anachronisms everywhere. People seem contented. Inattentive, though. Immodest. Superstitious. Talk of monsters. Magic. Seen it for myself. As I write, can feel my ankle setting back into place. Can see bruises Veidt gave me rapidly disappearing. Sack size of grocery bag apparently bottomless. Gifted by simpering and dumb mayor of Scuttle Town. Accomplishments apparently built off back of Guardian Genie. Shantae. An over-eager purple haired dancer. Not sure what she’s about. No matter. Had full meal. Have job to do. Headed to Mud Bog Island. Apparently, a haven for evil creatures. Perhaps fighting different kinds of monsters is what I need right now. </strong></p><p>
  <strong>                Funny to think that it’s autumn back home. Dead leaves drifting from scant trees coming to rest on the bodies of the fallen. Not spring. No new life yet. But here I am.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                I am reborn, two seasons out of date. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Rorschach, November 2<sup>nd</sup>, 1985. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.┐┌.</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Mortal Timer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rorschach tries to tackle his first den of evil. He finds out the dark creatures of Sequin Land are not to be trifled with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Rorschach</span> </strong>
</p><p>                I think I needed that bath. Felt nice. Sins of the last few days are finally washing off. I guess the claims of magic aren’t far-fetched here. That bath really did heal. Clothes were clean and pressed when I gathered them. I dressed and left the bathhouse without comment. Pulling back sleeve, I check my watch. Only twenty minutes spent. Miraculous. Might have spent a day or more resting off twisted ankle. Even so, twenty minutes is time wasted. Evil still lurks. Every second counts.</p><p>                To make up for the lost time, I jog towards the dock on the north end of town. Even with a map, I don’t know these streets. Not sure about the shortest route. No one else in a hurry. Only occasionally get glances where I pass. Chatter has died down. Docks are coming up now. Can smell the brine and hear the splash of waves against wood. Skid to a stop before the work area. Watch says five and a half minutes. Could have been better.</p><p>                Brawny men haul over-large crates on their backs and in their arms, sometimes stopping to make small talk or pass a box onto a boat before continuing with their work. Galleons line each dock, some given minimal distance between each other by smaller vessels occupying space. Men here are unkempt, but jolly. Even with sweat running down faces and muscles straining from weight of cargo, they keep in good spirits. Fine people. Hard workers. Shame I haven’t met more of their like. Someone whistles at me. The sound is sharp and shrill.</p><p>                <strong><em>“Aye malarkey, </em></strong>do ye be lost, Short Stack?” Owner of the voice approaches. Large, lumbering steps. Fat beer belly. Muscled limbs. Calloused skin. Beard braided into knots. Tall captain’s hat. Wearing two eyepatches for some reason. Not sure why anyone would want to limit their eyesight. Doesn’t seem to stop him. “Thar be men <em>workin’</em> here, and yer presence be a potential work-safety violation. Unless ye got a mover’s permit, we’ll have ta ask ye to leave.”</p><p>                “Not here to interrupt work. Have job from mayor. Who are you?” I begin to fish for the job notice in the sack.</p><p>                “I be Captain Meergun, frequent patron of the Scuttle Town docks, plus nominated ‘Most Legally Distinct Frigate Captain on the Seven Seas, Not Includin’ the One that is a Little Small to be Considered a Sea by Maritime Council Standards, so We Don’t Count it.’”</p><p>                “Fascinating.” I hand him the notice. He unfolds and reads it.</p><p>                “Aw, ye <em>mean</em> it? I was thinkin’ o’ getting a plaque, which might help the- <em>Banana bells, man! Is ye goin’ ta clear the old Genie Tomb!?”</em> His shout resounds over the docks, drawing attention to us. Sailors huddle like scared children and whisper to each other.</p><p>                “Yes. That’s the idea.”</p><p>                “Ye know what lurks there, right?”</p><p>                “Been told.”</p><p>                “What are ye gonna fight them with!?”</p><p>                “Myself.”</p><p>                “So, yer gonna <em>punch</em> the cursed mud-monsters and walkin’ dead to death?”</p><p>                “As opposed to cutting them?”</p><p>                “Can’t argue with yer logic on the muck beasts, but there be a lotta baddies in that den o’ evil. Only a madman would go in there with nothin’ but his bare hands.” Even with magic, claims likely overblown. Doubt creatures made of mud are much threat.</p><p>                “Not crazy. Just determined.”</p><p>                “If’n ye say so. Sounds like ye aren’t gonna back down from this, so here.” He produces something from his pockets and tosses it to me. Catch it with both hands. Looks like a metal ball with spikes coming off it.</p><p>                “What’s this?”</p><p>                “That be a <strong>PIKE BALL.</strong> Just throw it in front of ya an’ let it do the work. Might even the odds a bit.”</p><p>                “Admire your confidence.”</p><p>                “<em>Confidence? </em>Boyo, I’s just hoping they can pull ye outta the sea in one piece.” Seems my joke is lost on him. “No one here’s gonna take ye out there, but I can at least get ye a transport and some directions. <strong><em>Festus!</em>”</strong> With that shout, something squawks. Comes fluttering furiously out of a ship on the east side of docks. Green and yellow parrot. Lands on the captain’s shoulder. “Festus me beast, I need a favor.”</p><p>                “Festus wanna cracker. Festus finished with royal tax returns. Festus needs postage notarized for proper delivery.”</p><p>                “O’ course! Daddy’s crackers be in the second top drawer o’ the captain’s desk. Don’t eat too many now, even parrots need ta watch the sodium intake. I’ll be up to sign the legal kajiggers after we got the cargo out. Fer now, <em>lower the paddleboat!” </em>Parrot flies off. Captain realizes something after authoritative declaration. “Also, drop in a map of Mud Bog Island! Don’t take the master copy, though! We need it fer distribution!”</p><p>                “Why paddle boat?”</p><p>                “Didn’t think ye wanted a rowboat. Would ye have preferred a windsurf?”</p><p>                “Paddleboat’s fine.”</p><p>                “I read ye well then. Well friend, if’n ye survive, come back an’ share yer story with us. Days has been quiet for a while ‘round here, an’ there ain’t many high-profile adventurers doin’ a great deal. I’ll even spot ya a <strong>SUPER MONSTER MILK</strong> fer the trouble.”</p><p>                “Hrm. Alright.” Boat splashes down from frigate. Settles in water. Little thing. Mostly wood, but surprisingly sleek. Obvious paddles in center control rudder on back. “By the way, why two eyepatches?”</p><p>                “Huh? Oh, everybody asks ‘bout those. These ain’t eyepatches, Short Stack, they be me sunglasses. Lost the temple pieces in an unfortunate shark accident. Doctor says I need ‘em fer me medical photophobia. So, I’s got some string and tied ‘em together like this. I got used ta the way it looks an’ didn’t bother askin’ fer a new frame. A word o’ advice from ole Captain Meergun to ye: ne’er bring on a boat anything ye don’t mind losin’ in a potential shark attack.”</p><p>                “Understood.” I descend the ladder on the side of the dock. Step off bottom rung onto paddleboat. Map is strewn out along seat. Includes instructions for daytime navigation. Star charts. Wind reading. Very comprehensive. Pick it up and begin to paddle. Motion is easy. Boat moves at a steady clip. Can lean against rudder to steer. Doesn’t require hands. I look back up at the dock. Sailors waving me off. Expressions are nervous, somber, like witnessing a burial at sea. Seems appropriate, given the paranoia.</p><p>                Consider the captain’s words while paddling. A bit of an eccentric but seems worldly. Can understand the need to hold onto what’s part of us. Ill-fitting lenses. My disguise splattered in the arctic waste. Feels strange to shed things with meaning. Never considered the need to keep old journal. My loyal repository of emotion and observation served its purpose. No reason to dwell on it. Past is invaluable, but not everything needs preserving. Not even first journal I’ve kept. Just for that year. Why do I miss it then? Not even two days and already feel nostalgic for grimy bricks and empty cans of beans and feeling of righteousness when rescuing the city from itself. Giving the human cockroaches what they deserve.</p><p>                Closure maybe. Must be closure. Knowing wickedness is going unpunished.</p><p>---------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                Journey was uneventful. Alone with thoughts. Only company was lapping of water against sides of boat and faint ticking of watch. Maybe the latter was just in my head. Who knows? Not much to write about in the journal. Had to keep hands on map to reference direction and landmarks. Slow voyage by sea but can eventually see the outline of island in the distance. Sky is now timid shade of orange, fading into violet as I get closer to island. Fog starting to become heavy. Will have to make sure I don’t wreck the boat. Gaze fixed upon roiling water and menacing earth jutting from it.</p><p>                Manage to get the boat to shore. Mud is apt description. Ground gurgles its bloody throated protest as the vessel sticks into the muck. Land bound. I exit. Sink three inches in. Shoreline doesn’t want me to leave, protesting as my steps free shoes from its grasp. Fog has dissipated on land. Strange. Map says Genie Tomb is not far from <strong>VILLAGE OF LOST SOULS.</strong> Gate to the underworld, they told me. Sure feels like it. Very air seems to be pressing in from all sides. Cold. Wet. Clammy, like contents of morgue. Silent as, too.</p><p>                Watch says seven hours. Short travel, all things considered. Got dark quickly. Wonder if it’s November here as well. Didn’t feel like it back at Scuttle Town. The land here is a rotted banquet table, all decaying vegetation and meat rejected by the scavengers. Walking along shore to find the path. Bones stick up from the earth like ivory fingers, twitching and sighing as they reach for purpose that slips through deathly fingers. No solace here. No Heaven to be found.</p><p>                Hard to pick out a trail here. Every patch of swamp-drowned flora and disturbed burial site looks like the next. Feels like the sort of place humanity deserves. Can see the faces of evil people rising from the goo. They would grasp at their throats, mud spewing forth like a river of shit as they are born of feral want and predatory instinct. Might scramble naked across too soft ground to find what they’re looking for. Adorn themselves in cloth and blend into the scared populace that cannot tell the difference. Something pulls my attention from the fantasy though. Bulge rises in the mud. Move closer to investigate.</p><p>                Shapeless boil-like indentation begins to churn from the ground. Lines start becoming distinct in effluvium. As the mud sinks, I can make out the visage of a skull. The mouth opens, only to be filled with muck. Why is my heart beating so fast? Teeth get stuck against the ancient soil as the primordial land begins to pull it down. Red pinpricks flare up before being sucked back below the earth. It is gone within seconds.</p><p>                Distant sounds pull my attention away from the ground. Sounds like it’s coming up along the coast. Move towards it, perhaps too fast. Don’t care. Withered trees lean in ever so slightly as I run past them. Perhaps they want to tell me secrets. Don’t want to hear them. Will not gain wisdom from the rotting voice of a land long left for dead. Drawn into hell itself. Or perhaps the opposite.</p><p>                Slow down as sound becomes louder. Crouch down behind dead thorny bushes as I find the source of the commotion. A large ship is visible at the shoreline. About three stories tall, not counting mast. Sides constructed of bone white wood, looks to have iron plating reinforcing that. Front of ship has a decoration like the spiked jaw of an anglerfish. Cannons line the deck and jut from ports facing the shoreline. Looks like a crowd of figures gathered before it. Creep closer to get a look.</p><p>                Never seen anything like this crowd before. Pygmy figures with skin that swallows what little light this place has. Scarlet bandanas and pants stand out against violet mud. Eyes like dinner plates take up most of otherwise featureless faces. Yellow sclera with ovoid pupils gives the appearance of glaucoma ridden felines. Thick spinal ridges protrude from backs, straining against thin shadowy skin. Clawed fingers wield scimitars and flintlock pistols. They all look up at their god on the boat.</p><p>                Presence is easy to note. Lilac skin stands out immediately. Hair is a few shades darker, though mostly hidden by hat adorned with Jolly Roger. Looks to be wearing some sort of skull bikini and purple leggings. Impractical and whorish. Sword and pistol dangle at belt, matching the jewelry on her neck and wrists. Ruby eyes complement devilish expression aimed at crowd. Motions have smarmy confidence to them, not dissimilar to cult leader. If there is <em>a</em> pirate plaguing this land, she must be it.</p><p>                “Listen up, <em>crew!”</em> Voice is commanding. Slightly shrill. Scowl in words does not match facial expression. “The <strong>RELIC</strong> is in that Genie Tomb. We must be close. The dark magic is strong here. I can feel it. Most of you aren’t coming back, and that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. Anyone who returns empty handed gets thrown overboard. <em>Any objections?” </em>Dead silence. “Good. Now fan out and <em>find</em> it!” Not eager to face down hail of gunfire. Better retreat.</p><p>                Decide to sneak towards west. Once I get distance between marauders, break into a run. Branches spring from ground to impede progress. Suction in mud makes traversal difficult. Ground starts to dry up as progress is made. Suddenly, something splashes onto the cracked dirt before me. Seven-foot dripping tarry horror with soulless yellow eyes rears up. It lashes out, catching me in the ribs and knocking the air from my chest. Throws me a few feet. Manage to land upright, though slightly stumbling. Can feel chest bruising already. Watch says five minutes since leaving shoreline. Can feel each second drag as the creature flows forward to strike again. Not taking it lying down this time. <strong>I press X to throw a vicious punch.</strong> Wait, that doesn’t-</p><p>                -Matter. Gloved fist hits cold goop. Bubble bursts out back. Creature wails and reforms, undeterred. Anticipating blow this time. Step just out of reach. It expects my counterattack and jets back. Stays there, watching. Assessing. We circle each other. If it wants a duel, it can have it. The thing leaps up, arcing towards me as a gelatinous projectile. Try to scramble out of the way. Knocks me on my face. Meat in back torn up from mud solidified into claws. Creature tries to pin me. A haymaker to its head makes it flinch. Straight punch to the chest makes it ripple. Hammer fist sends it reeling off me, given just enough time to scramble back to standing. Catches its composure then surges forward. Take a step back and bring fists up. Smash them both into head. Mass bursts like balloon, sending gooey eyes to splatter against trees. Muck collapses back into whence it came.</p><p>                Have a second to taste victory. Notice small cloth bag in remains. Open it to reveal bottle. Looks like a drink of some sort, adorned with a scowling face. Turn over to read the label. <strong>MONSTER MILK. </strong><em>‘For when you need some monstrous attack power!’</em> the label reads. <em>Will </em>need it. From the sounds of it, the sailors said there were more of those things. Can feel blood spreading through coat from my back like warm syrup. In no condition to clear the tomb. Hasn’t stopped me before. Can’t renege on duty. Not going to let evil win again. Perhaps missing something.</p><p>                …Pirate said something about a relic.</p><p>                Might be a long shot. May be only way to do this. If a whole crew looks for it, must be worth something. Need to find it first. The hunt for the trail continues.</p><p>                Up the path of cracked earth I go. Keep eye out for moving patches of mud. Manage to avoid fights. Multi-headed mud monster springs from earth, keening and searching around hungrily. Place filled with overlarge beetles, too. End up crushing one with a well-placed stomp. Spat out gem like a grim pinata. Wonder why bug carries money. Take currency. Not like the bug’s using it. Watch continues ticking. Sounds faster than last time. Might need to rewind.</p><p>                Press on. Check watch every few minutes. Avoid more creatures. Island also populated by cycloptic spiders. Don’t seem to react at distance. Feet starting to get tired. Watch says forty-five minutes. Feels like hours. Suddenly stop. Don’t notice it at first. Felt automatic. Look up. Now I realize why bowels are starting to turn to cold water. It’s the mouth of a cave. Overly large, shaped like the yawning skull of goliath beast. Cloaked figure stands at its entrance, keeping silent vigil. Insectoid mandibles and hollow, judging eye socket stares at nothing. Tingling survival instinct pricks my nerves. Something is telling me to stay away. Try to find anything else to focus on. Like the winding dirt path to the left.</p><p>                Ah. This might be it. Path leads through trees. Silence is not comforting. Violet dirt starts to become worn cerulean stone. Cadaverous vegetation finally gives way. There it is. The tomb, I assume. Resembles the ruins of some ancient stronghold. Cracked marble pillars are caressed by dry, grey vines. Moon shines a dim spotlight onto the splintering legs of a broken statue, still standing. Rest of body is nowhere to be found. The irony. Looks like main portion of building dips into the ground. A cavernous hole stretches down menacingly into pitch. Can hear burbling from within. Hissing. Scraping. This is the home of monsters.</p><p>                Take a second to wonder. Wonder what this place must have been like at its peak. Structure of great power, carved marble and decadence. People milling about. Soldiers in bronze armor wielding spears. Hexed mud once fertile soil and green grass. Ferns and flowers growing freely. Almost the sort of thing Veidt would spend time hobnobbing about with pretentious liberal scholars. Not me. Ancient history is unsettling. For some reason makes me think of the aftermath of apocalypse. All the people gone. Work derived from the corded muscles of exhausted men falling to ruin after fat cats and overthinkers punch in the codes and drop the bombs. Communists and capitalists alike making nothing of the millions reduced to dust within minutes. Never a thought to the toll of life. All effort given meaningless. No one to do right where nothing exists.</p><p>                Two minutes. Three. Four. Clock ticks. Can feel the seconds of wasted life. Worries of magic within. Feel the ingrained superstition of cave dwellers smearing walls with shamanistic rituals. Hoping the incantations work in their favor. Blood drying on back. Monsters move within. Five. Knew a man who could explain atoms to their component parts. Once said magic is just insufficient understanding. Trying to impose order on random phenomena. Shadow men could be approaching any minute. Ticking. Still ticking.</p><p>                Finally move. Back screams, but feet quiet down as I creep towards the entrance. Deep breaths. Face is still on. Wasted enough time. Cavern rapidly darkens as I descend. Navigate by listening for the crawling muck. Need to avoid the creatures for now. Will kill them on the way out. That’s the job. Orange light flickers on far wall as I continue descent. Can make out shapes in dark. Serpentine figures slithering along stone. Occasionally leap up to ledges and burrow into unseen crevices. Other female forms with plumed… hair? Looks more like feathers. Would have said something but they carry bows. Not keen to talk I take it. Pause and hold breath as cloaked figure floats out of darkness. Scythe scrapes on ground below. Catch outline of skull through flickering light. Navigates unimpeded through inky black. Vanishes into shadow seconds later. Ticking. Am I the only one who hears it?</p><p>                Manage to make a break for the glowing wall. Getting uncomfortably warm. Finally see why. Out of walls flow falling lava. Heat radiating into stone. Air shimmers in room like scorching desert. Sweat irritates the wound on my back. Now have a full view of creatures. Serpentine monsters have upper halves of women. Pointed teeth. Yellow scaled skin. Purple hair, apparently common here. Bow women have avian features. Hope the eyesight isn’t up to snuff. Robed figures nowhere to be seen. Muck creatures also slither about below. Begin to shimmy across ledge. They don’t see me up here.</p><p>                I start planning a route through the room. Looks like an old grotto. Any water once here has boiled away. Lava is flowing to ground and fuming upward. The creatures steer clear of it. Plenty of handholds and places to balance and walk. Rock gets more uneven as the cave dips lower. Just a bit further. What are they doing anyway? Nothing could <em>live </em>here. Can see further down in. Walkways not slippery but getting thin. Must slow down to keep balance. Almost there. Ground getting shaky. Almost… got…</p><p>                Feet suddenly give out under me as rocks crumble.</p><p>                Manage to grab hold of the ledge in time, but the sound of rocks smashing down is <em>loud.</em> Bird women notice it first. Glance at rocks then up at me. One of them shouts something at me in an airy language before bringing the bow to bear. Manage to pull up in time to not get impaled by steel tipped arrow. Snake women now at attention. They hiss and leap up the rocks with frightening speed. Really good climbers. Muck monsters have trouble climbing, but they wait hungrily on lowest part of cave. Finally get a look at flying hooded figures. Like grim reapers. Manage to duck just in time to avoid decapitation. Shrieking bones fly overhead then vanish. Ambush predators. Not good.</p><p>                Jump to a lower platform. Snakes are catching up. Gleeful slaughter evident in their gazes. Forked tongues run over lips and teeth in horrible sexual gesture. Need to get low to avoid volleys of arrows. The metal tips clank against stone and warp with each missed shot, but beads are getting too close for comfort. Muck monsters roll along the ground, trying to anticipate where I’ll jump off. Dodging reapers is getting harder and harder. Starting to coordinate attacks. Can feel air from blades close to head. Want to murder is keeping them sloppy, but for how long? Looks like chasm inclines towards furthest point. About twenty feet down, shorter distance forward.</p><p>                I’ll have to jump it.</p><p>                Leap forward. Snake women scream their frustration as claws miss me by mere inches. Arrows strike wall at back. Must have been too eager to properly lead target. Reapers yowl as prospect of head taking disappears down dark chasm. Muck men too apathetic to follow. I try to tuck and roll, but twenty feet not as much distance as initially thought. I land hard on shoulder. Can hear the bone crack. Vision flashes white with pain despite the darkness. Start rolling down uneven stone. Stomach churning agony flares every time shoulder hits incline. Stab. Roll. Stab. Roll. Stab. Roll. Did watch break? Ticking hasn’t stopped. Getting too fast.</p><p>                Incline finally stops as ground flattens out. Can hear rush of blood through skull. Breathing coming as ragged gasps. Warmth flows again over back. Coat is stained. Try to move stiff arm. Not responding. Great. Can feel it throbbing, though. Manage to slowly pull up to feet. Knees and shins feel like aftermath of batting practice but aren’t broken. Can still walk. Looks like there’s light down here. Glowing blue torches flicker, casting eerie shadows across unblemished stone bricks. Looks like carvings in walls. Not sure what they mean.</p><p>                Reduced to limping along. Vision is swimming. A fine film of pain works its way through my brain. Must be concussed. Hard to notice in the commotion. Sure feeling it now. Lights are gentle on eyes at least. Captain said he was photophobic. Could probably take sunglasses off for this. Ticking is slowing now. Glow is steadily becoming stronger as I get closer. Is hallway shaking or just me? Force myself into the light. Feels heavy going through.</p><p>                Push through to other side. Lift head to look over the room. Tranquil and still. Stone glows with radiance that comes from nowhere. Running pool of water present in room’s center. All around, statues of naked women watch over the pool. Eyes are uncannily detailed. I cannot stand their gaze. They all stare. Judging. A dais sits in the middle of the pool. Upon it is the frame of a gauntlet. The indigo metal glimmers. Not from any light in the room. Move towards it. Steps slosh through running water. No comment from watchers. Glance down at wrist. Watch hands are spinning rapidly. Ticking has become a mechanical whine. Continuous. Too fast to count. Seconds no longer matter. Minutes just an extension. Hours meaningless in unchanging remnant of a dead world.  Reach for the gauntlet with my good hand. Bit of a bastard to fit with one arm. Hard metal frame eventually slides over glove and pushes back sleeve.</p><p>                The ticking stops.</p><p>                The room suddenly explodes in miasma of color. Scream into mask as barbs rip into my wrist. Can feel metal flaying skin from fingers. Eyes shut tight. Something electric worms its way through blood vessels and digs into bones. Spotless glove provides no protection as palm is shredded. <em>It hurts.</em> Can feel pulsing muscles being shifted and pried underneath, like gauze bound to wound and ripped off. Sound of cogs and brass warping as watch is destroyed. <em>Make it stop.</em> Tendons pulled and removed. Not sure where they’re going. <em>Why me? </em>Can feel spit and sweat mixing under mask. Throat getting hoarse. Might scream until coughing blood. Finally stops.</p><p>                Panting and hacking. Manage to swallow bile. Adrenaline wearing off fast. Nothing hurts anymore. Both arms finally responding. Silence only falls temporarily. Afraid to look. Gentle voice sounds from everywhere in room.</p><p>                <em>“Outworlder, heed my plea. You now possess the </em><strong>CONDUIT OF DARK MAGIC.</strong> <em>Grave danger befalls Sequin Land. Peril so great it requires the combined efforts of </em><strong>LIGHT </strong><em>and</em> <strong>DARK. </strong><em>The genies cannot control the unkempt and selfish trepidations of shadow arcana. Mortal hands must wield it. The relic is now yours to control, Rorschach. I beseech you to find my daughter and destroy the </em><strong>SOURCE OF CHAOS </strong><em>that plagues these lands lest millions perish.” </em><strong>Obtained the DARK CONDUIT.</strong></p><p>                Eyes finally open. Room is quiet save running water. Dark Conduit? Thought I heard music again. Who was talking? How’d they know my name? Is any of this real? Injuries are gone. I hold the gauntlet up for inspection. Metal is shimmering black. Wristwatch is now at back of hand. Keeping time noiselessly. Back face of it now one-fifth red substance, which seems to waver like fluid. Wiggle fingers to find metal is flexible. Touch gauntlet with free hand. Relic registers the sensation. Just as sensitive as skin. Strange.</p><p>                No time to think about it as ground begins to rumble. Loose bits of stone fall from ceiling. Look back down the hall. Run. Sprinting turning into bounding leaps. Never gone this fast on foot before. Something cool spools through blood. Ground starts to give way ahead, crumbling into cave. Without thinking, <strong>press A to jump ten feet up.</strong> Clear the pit easily. Strange thoughts are getting obtrusive now. Just accomplished physically impossible task. Stop thinking. Keep sprinting. Serendipitously, rocks crumble at end of hall to reveal impromptu doorway. Can smell cloying swamp outside. Hear monsters scream above me. Sounds of cave in.</p><p>                I manage to throw myself through the doorway before the hall collapses. Can hear island groan in protest as tomb dies. Suction of corrupted swamp follows crashing stone as greedy slime follows to fill in the cavern. Have ended up on rocky overlook. Old quarry. Black stone visible hundreds of feet around, with gravel and mud lining bottom of pit. Rickety rock columns dot the jagged scape. Just enough distance to jump between if necessary. About to check map. Notice something on ground. <strong>STONE KEY</strong>? I wonder what it’s for. Pick it up and pocket it.</p><p>                <em>“You!” </em>Shout comes from above. Recognize the voice. Sounds like The Pirate caught up. Wasted too much time at entrance of tomb. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Turn to face upward. She grimaces, pistol pointed at me. “I think you’ve got something of mine, <em>lubber.”</em> Shadow pygmies join at her flanks, brandishing swords.</p><p>                “Could have just asked for the key.”</p><p>                “What k- <em>NO,</em> you nitwit! The Dark Conduit. <em>Give it to me.” </em>Try experimental tug on relic. Ow. Not coming off.</p><p>                “Can’t, even if wanted to.”</p><p>                “Do you <em>know</em> who you’re dealing with, Detective Inkblot?”</p><p>                “No. Don’t really care.” Red eyes smolder with nightmarish hate. What’s the saying? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Appropriate in current circumstances. Twisted grin now dominates her features.</p><p>                “Ohoho! Is <em>that</em> how we’re doing this? Right then! <strong>TINKERBATS! </strong>Bring him to me! If you can’t get him whole, <strong><em>I’ll just take the arm.”</em></strong> Shadowy creatures start climbing down the rockface, weapons ready. Each one climbing down replaced by another at top. How many are there? Leap out of way of Pirate’s bullet. Another impossible feat. Can see why she wanted gauntlet. Dozens crawling down at once. Not wise to stick around. Take a chance and jump towards the pillar.</p><p>                Perfect landing on feet. Thunder cracks overhead. Slight drizzle coming down. Second boom comes afterwards, but not from sky. Suck in breath as bullet grazes leg. Don’t look down. Jump to next column. Platform starts to crack under my weight. Jump again. Stopping means death. Must get to the other side. Glance to quarry edge. Pirate is keeping pace. Runs inhumanly fast. She leaps easily between different levels of the quarry, taking potshots. Flintlocks aren’t supposed to reload so quickly.</p><p>                Keep moving. She’s persistent. “I’ll pry the gauntlet off your <em>corpse! </em>Hold still!” In over my head. How is she keeping up? Rain coming down harder now. Rock is getting slick. Almost at other side. Take bullet directly into shoulder.</p><p>                “Fuck! <em>Again!?” </em>Can still move arm. Not sure how. Doesn’t matter when I mistime the jump. Try to scramble and grab edge. Rock too slippery. Hit chin on stone. Bite tongue by accident. Slump back and fall. Ground must be a hundred feet below. Can’t believe I’m dying like this. Going to follow Blake to grave. Guts will probably burst from impact of fall, bone splinters exploding like hollow points through torso. Art supposed to be dramatic. Life imitates art. Cruel irony indeed. Pirate seems to find the joke funny, given how she cackles. Not closing my eyes.</p><p>I will face death head on.</p><p>Something grabs my leg and fatalistic instinct snaps. About to smash face first into side of quarry. Put out my arms to stop nose from breaking. There’s a moment to breathe as weight is kept precariously in grip. Hear a grunt of effort above me. Glance up. Purple ponytail. Tan skin. Red dancer’s garb sagging with rainwater. <em>“Little help?” </em></p><p>I oblige, pushing myself up to quarry edge. Shantae pulls me to feet, starts pushing me onto path. “Come on, Risky’s catching up!”</p><p>“The pirate?”</p><p>“Guh- I- <em>who else would it be?</em> Move!” We start dashing for the lip of the quarry. The Guardian Genie leaps like wound spring. Can keep up with my bounding sprint. Mayor might not have been lying. Hear the Pirate shouting over rain behind us.</p><p>“Great, the runt’s here too! Turn him over and <em>run, </em>little girl! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!”</p><p>“No, Risky! I won’t let you kill anyone!” Hmm. The genie is <em>that</em> kind of hero.</p><p>“Then you’re going down first!” Another gunshot. Shantae rolls under it then leaps up to the edge of the quarry, effortlessly vaulting over. I follow with jump, have to roll to stick landing.</p><p><strong><em>“SHANTAE!” </em></strong>echoes desperate scream from behind us. Continue marathoning through swamp. Easily avoiding monsters on way back. Check watch. Red liquid seems to have depleted some. About half full. Only takes fifteen-minute run to get to shore. Not where I left paddle boat, though. Strange vehicle is parked in mud. It has the appearance of a primitive helicopter. Main body shaped like over large cauldron. Blades extend about ten feet off. Engine exposed, made of brass. Smells of burnt coal. Original Nite Owl might have had a field day with this from what Dan said.</p><p>“Get in,” she says. Not a request.</p><p>“Going where?”</p><p>“Back to Scuttle Town. You’re clearly hurt, and Risky Boots will tear this island apart looking for us. Plus, those… things in the Village of Lost Souls freak me out.”</p><p>“In cave shaped like giant creature?”</p><p>“Yeah. That one.”</p><p>“What <em>things?”</em></p><p>“Zombies, I think. They look wrong though. Are you coming in or do you like standing in the rain?” She opens the cauldron and steps inside. Oblige invitation. Seats are soft. Plushy. Now soaking with rainwater. Genie pulls a ripcord on engine. Can hear blades hum then start up. Cauldron lifts from ground. Begins to drift over the sea back towards direction of Scuttle Town.</p><p>“What’s this?” ask looking at interior of cauldron.</p><p>“This is my <strong>UNCLE MIMIC’S FLYING WHIRLIMAGIG. </strong>It’s a prototype, but it works great. Normally I would’ve asked Sky for a ride, but… she’s <em>kinda </em>not supposed to know I’m here.”</p><p>“Hrm.” Let the ride go in silence for a bit. Check bullet wound on shoulder. Didn’t even go through coat. Pull down to check. Nasty bruise left behind, but skin is unbroken. Lead ball should have punched right through. Stings like a bastard. Will heal on its own. Finally catch genie’s gaze. Baby blue eyes. Very curious. Vibrant. Has more questions, no doubt. I’ll start. “You found me. How?”</p><p>“Well… it’s kind of a long story.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Idle Idols and Crumbling Laurels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shantae reflects on some changes in her personal life.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Shantae</span> </strong>
</p><p>                Squawk. <em>Squawk. <strong>SQUAWK!</strong></em> That’s been my morning alarm for the last four months.</p><p>                And the morning routine goes that I jump out of bed and shoo away Wrench so I can bathe and get dressed in peace. If I fall asleep again past that, then Sky shows up to my house and gets all yell-y. I love her to death, but I don’t know how she gets up so early every day. Maybe it’s all the birds.</p><p>                It’s not even like I wake up to Wrench <em>every </em>day. Just on the ones where I have to do stuff. Otherwise, I can sleep in as long as I want. The sun gets real high in the sky and I lay back all groggy wondering if it’s worth getting up today. I always do. I do because<em> today</em> might be the day when Scuttle Town needs my help again and I gotta be ready to give the baddies a good whipping. Today’s the day I’ll get to cut loose with the magic and throw on the moves and beat down the big ol’ bad guy.</p><p>                It never seems to come around anymore.</p><p>                I still get up today because Sky’s been trying to make sure I see my friends, so I don’t get bored. That’s why I hop in the tub, throw in the bubble bath, and start scrubbing. Might be fun if I turned into a crab, but it’d make shampooing hard. I oughta thank Risky for the tub at some point. It took Uncle Mimic pulling out the trap to make it usable, but bathing in private is comfortable in a way that the public bathhouse isn’t. Thinking is a lot easier when my friends aren’t trying to splash me and needle about ‘that mopey look.’ It’s not mopey. That’s just what I look like when I’m trying to make sense of things.</p><p>                Hopping out of the tub, I cross the room to review my list of utility dances pinned up on my wardrobe. Just a few things I’ve been working on in my spare time to make life around the <strong>LIGHTHOUSE</strong> a bit easier. Okay Shantae, let’s try the <strong>DELIGHTFUL DANCE OF DRYNESS.</strong> It’s gotta work this time. Visualize the beat. Hips swinging, hair swaying, roll the belly. Arms out, up, around, wiggle the fingers, and… <em>flourish!</em> The air puffs and water sprays all over the room. <em>Sigh.</em> I’m getting sloppy. Forgot to choke up. At least I’m dry.</p><p>                Outfits are a good way to express yourself to the world. What do I want to tell everyone today? Classic red prepared to kick butt at a moment’s notice. There’s that <strong>NINJA COSTUME</strong> I never wore. I’ve never found a good time to put that one on. The <strong>SPACE OFFICER</strong> outfit is right next to it. An ill-fitting bikini, floral shirt and shorts, the <strong>SPACE PRINCESS OUTFIT.</strong> I should probably get rid of that one. Guess I’ll go with Old Red. Never fails me. It only takes a minute to get everything on. Final question is whether to wear the ponytail. Rotty’s always telling me how great I look with my hair down. I value my friends’ opinions, and it’s nice to get compliments. But…</p><p>                I end up putting it on. Never know when the criminal element is going to drop by.</p><p>                Now that I’m Ret-2-Go, I mosey on out the front and start taking a walk towards town. It’s a little chilly out today. I kinda like it. It’s not like it’s going to get much colder than this around Scuttle Town, but at least it’s something different. I guess I’ve got some time before lunch starts. Maybe I’ll see what Uncle Mimic’s up to. He’s good at talking about… stuff. I’m not entirely sure when I started talking to my uncle more than my friends. There’s this way that old people get where even if they don’t know <em>exactly</em> what’s in your brain, they manage to get really close to it. Feels like Mimic isn’t trying to make me like this situation.</p><p>                The <strong>WORKSHOP</strong> is just a bit past the gallery. Mayor Scuttlebutt’s got a table in front of the outdoor exhibit. Already I can hear him rattling off his order to a bewildered server. Looks like he’s taking an early lunch, and a big one too, on top of the empty box of chocolates he’s got in front of him. I don’t bother saying hi. Dealing with him isn’t fun even when he’s in a good mood. Sometimes I wonder if he even <em>does</em> anything around here.</p><p>                Uncle’s shop is open, as I thought. No customers inside, though. The walls are decorated with old <strong>RELIC HUNTER </strong>finds and half-finished inventions. There’s a bunch of crates immediately to the right when I walk in, labeled with… the <strong>TECHNO BARON’S </strong>logo? That’s fishy. Mimic’s at his worktable near the back of the shop. There’s all kinds of metal bits and bobs on it organized in a way that only makes sense to him. His green overcoat is stained with grease, and his beard is all tangled. His goggles are tied tightly around his head. Almost seems like he gets a new wrinkle every time I come to talk to him. He’s hunched over the bench with a screwdriver and something in his palm.</p><p>                “Morning, Uncle.”</p><p>                “Good morning to you, Shantae. Did you sleep well last night?” Not really. I had a nightmare. A <em>doozy</em> of a nightmare. There was a lot of screaming and some crackly noise and grey stone. It’s hard to get all the details, but I remember being disturbed. That’s what I want to say. I’m not going to tell him that. I don’t want to worry him.</p><p>                “Yeah. Good enough.”</p><p>                “Do you want to tell me about it?” <em>How does he do that?</em> Sigh.</p><p>                “No, Uncle, I don’t.”</p><p>                “Don’t feel like you need to keep everything to yourself.”</p><p>                “I know, Uncle Mimic.” I find myself folding my arms across my chest. I’m not thinking about it, but I’m sick of everyone trying to pry me open like a treasure chest. What’s wrong with having a few things just for me? He looks up from his watch, and now he’s cross.</p><p>                “What happened to you?”</p><p>                “Huh?”</p><p>                “Weren’t you the one telling Risky Boots she needed to get her problems off her chest when you were hunting the <strong>PIRATE MASTER?</strong> Didn’t you talk to the <strong>SQUID BARON</strong> to get him out of his funk?”</p><p>                “Well, yeah, but- “</p><p>                “But what? Are you exempt from your own advice?” Frowning now. Trying not to scowl at Uncle Mimic. I huff out hard.</p><p>                <em>“No…”</em></p><p>                “Then what’s bothering you? Is it just a nightmare?”</p><p>                “Well… it… yes…?”</p><p>                “Shantae…” he warns.</p><p>                “What do you <em>want</em> me to say, Uncle? I’m supposed to be the Guardian Genie. Nothing has happened in over <em>a year.</em> It’s like after that incident on <strong>PARADISE ISLAND</strong> the world just decided to stop.”</p><p>                “Ah. Adventurer’s itch.”</p><p>                “Uncle, <em>ew</em>. If you need the ointment, I can- “</p><p>                <em>“No,</em> Shantae, adventurer’s itch. The want to get out into the world, grab it by the hair, and thrash it around until you’ve whipped all the problems into place. Now that it’s quiet, you’re wondering if something’s gone wrong.”</p><p>                “It’s not just adventuring, Uncle. I want to <em>help</em> people.” He looks down to his palm.</p><p>                “Do you know what I’ve got here, Shantae?”</p><p>                “I was going to ask, but then we started talking about itching.”</p><p>                “It’s the Techno Baron’s pocket watch.” …Huh?</p><p>                “Where’d you get it from?”</p><p>                “He gave it to me. Did you see those crates by the door there?” Did I see them? The crates with the Techno Baron’s <em>face plastered all over them?</em></p><p>                “Yeah…”</p><p>                “Those are some of the parts from his old airship. He’s promised me all of that for free if I can fix this.”</p><p>                “…Seems weird that the Techno Baron can’t repair his own watch.” I lean over and take a gander at it. It’s about palm sized, with two little clocks inside of the big one. The whole thing’s got pretty carvings and it’s made from silver. “Guess his gigantic lizard brain can’t handle a clock.”</p><p>                “Ah, but that’s the thing. It was originally his father’s pocket watch. Techinus Senior was a cog smith. His son is an electrician. For all his knowledge of iron and currents, the Techno Baron never learned his father’s craft. He focused too hard on the allure of circuitry. Big fancy toys. He never figured out the basics.”</p><p>                “I don’t know what you’re getting at here, Uncle. I can’t do technology like you do. Remember when I tried to make that pellet gun for my officer costume?”</p><p>                “I think you’re missing the takeaway.”</p><p>                “What’s the Techno Baron failing to fix a watch got to do with my situation?”</p><p>                “He overlooked the simple. That’s my point. You can’t spend your entire life as the hero, Shantae. Even adventurers settle down some time. You need to find something to do that isn’t chasing around the next big bad or jumping into volcanos.”</p><p>                “You’re one to talk. You were still doing that when you were my age. Your stories were part of the reason I started doing this in the first place.”</p><p>                “I’m aware, Shantae. It was a different time. The world was much more dangerous. Far less civilized. Towns were more isolated. Entire settlements would disappear when the creatures of dark magic would spring up like hungry tidal waves and destroy everything hard working people had built. It was up to humanity to beat back the threat before the genies brought peace.”</p><p>                “That’s what I’m talking about! The bad guys haven’t <em>stopped, </em>Uncle, they’ve just… hidden away.”</p><p>                “There’s always going to be another villain hiding in a bush somewhere. It doesn’t mean you have to take the world on your shoulders. I didn’t realize that until I was already getting gray hairs. That’s when I turned to inventing and relic hunting. I realized I could make the world better at my desk instead of shaking my fist at every errant critter and ne’er do well.”</p><p>                “Uncle…”</p><p>                “I’m getting <em>old</em>, Shantae. When I realized engineering was my passion, I was already well into middle age. I can’t help but think that I could have gotten a lot more done if I’d managed to sit down and focus earlier.” I don’t know why he’s selling himself short. He was clearly able to do both.</p><p>                “I don’t just have that ‘engineer’s calling.’ What should I do?”</p><p>                “Well, no one can decide that but you. You’re a grown woman, Shantae. It’s not my job to lead you by the nose anymore.” There’s a stool nearby I move to the bench and sit down in, resting my elbows on the table and pressing my cheeks into my palms.</p><p>                “Feels so hard to do when all of my friends have everything figured out. Sky’s got her birds <em>and</em> she’s dating again. Bolo’s training soldiers over in <strong>WATER TOWN.</strong> Even Rottytops helps her brothers keep the <strong>ZOMBIE CARAVAN</strong> going. I guess I’m just worried they’ll brush me off if I say anything about this.”</p><p>                “Hey, you’re never too alone to have these kinds of talks. You don’t want to keep things like that bottled up. It’s good to get them out in the open. I’m surprised you stopped by, honestly. I thought you were having lunch with your friends.”</p><p>                “What are you talking about? That’s not for another hour.”</p><p>                “You said it was at noon, right?”</p><p>                “Yeah.” He checks the pocket watch.</p><p>                “It’s 12:15.”</p><p>                <em>“What!? </em>Oh, crud, I must’ve spent too long in the tub! I gotta go, Uncle!” I throw myself off the stool and run for the door. Sky isn’t going to let me hear the end of this. I’ll just have to tell her… uh… I’ll think of an excuse when I get there. My monster whipper’s bouncing like crazy and I’m trying not to run into anyone on my way to the restaurant. Which way was it, again? <strong>CHEZ CHEF GIRL,</strong> that was just past the item shop. Okay, I think I’ve got my bearings. Just gotta turn the corner and-</p><p>                Crash right into someone.</p><p>                <em>Ow,</em> my head. That was my bad. I really should have been paying better attention. I’m still in a hurry, though. Just need to apologize and get moving. “Ow… oh- omigosh, I didn’t mean to run into you, I’m <em>so…</em> sorry…?” Huh. This is different. The guy lowers the crumpled map in his hands. “I… uh…” What kinda fashion sense <em>is </em>that? Obviously wearing elevator shoes. Pinstriped pants. Big brown overcoat. Some kinda fedora? What’s weirder is his face. It’s milk white with these splotchy black patches flowing through it. I can see the outline of his nose underneath, so it’s definitely a mask. More to the point, <em>it is too hot to be wearing <strong>any</strong> of that. Why is he?</em> Still… “Didn’t mean to run into you.”</p><p>                “Maybe slow down next time. Might do good to take in surroundings.” Wow. That voice. Does this guy eat gravel or something?</p><p>                “Right…”</p><p>                “Know where the mayor is?”</p><p>                “Oh, yeah. Mayor Scuttlebutt’s having lunch outside the gallery<strong>.</strong> He got a <em>really</em> big meal. He probably won’t be leaving for another hour at least.”</p><p>                “Hrm. Noted. Thanks for information.” Maybe I’ve got an excuse! This guy’s obviously new around here. <em>And</em> I just messed up his map on accident. I could probably take a detour and show him around town. Meeting new people <em>and</em> helping someone out!</p><p>                “Yeah. Hey, do you need- “</p><p>                “<em>Shantae! </em>There you are! We already have a table! C’mon!” Aw, heck. Guess my sense of direction was <em>too </em>good. Sky, Rotty, and Bolo are all sitting around. Rotty waves real big at me and Bolo’s got this look like he’s perpetually forgetting where he is.</p><p>                “Oh! Coming Sky! Hey, listen, I gotta go. Sorry again about bowling into you Mister…”</p><p>                “Rorschach.”</p><p>                “Raw shark?”</p><p>                “<em>No, Rorschach.” </em>I wish I could stretch this out longer, but Sky’s glaring at me. I’m in for a lecture.</p><p>                “Gotcha. Alright, see ya!” With perfect form and a smooth slide, I catch an empty seat and pick up the menu on the table. If I don’t lower it, then Sky can’t glare at me. There are now fingers at the top of the menu. And Sky’s pulled it down. Oh poo.</p><p>                “You’re <em>late.”</em> Yeah. That’s fair. Make it sound like I just whipped a puppy, why don’t you?</p><p>                “Aw, lay off, Birdy. Bolo just finished reading the menu. Wasn’t like we were getting anything done before she showed up. Everyone knows appetizers don’t count,” Rotty chimes in. I’m glad <em>someone’s</em> on my side.</p><p>                “That isn’t the point and you know it.” Bolo looks up from his menu and past the table.</p><p>                “Hey, what’s with that detective guy? Did someone lose their wallet or something?” Over my shoulder I see Rorschach’s coattails before he disappears into the crowd.</p><p>                “I don’t entirely know. Just ran into him. Literally. Apparently, he’s looking for Mayor Scuttlebutt.”</p><p>                “I know at least three guys in fighter camp who have a bone to pick with Scuttlebutt. Aw boogers, I just lost my place again. Now I’ll have to start over.” Sky takes the menu from him before he gets too invested in figuring out his entrée. Smoke would be coming out of her ears if she were a steam engine.</p><p>                “Bolo, you order the same thing every time you come here. <em>Why</em> do you need to reread the entire menu<em>?”</em></p><p>“Because perception is the most important part of combat. If the menu changes and it’s not on the same page, then I won’t be able to order it as effectively.”</p><p>                “It doesn’t make it more efficient if you <em>keep</em> reading after you’ve found it.”</p><p>                “Not true. Then I know its hiding place next time.” Sky rubs her temples, letting a few blonde strands of hair loose from her hood that she tucks back in.</p><p>                “That doesn’t… fine. Sure. Know the enemy. <em>You.”</em> She points an accusing finger at me. “Why were you late?” Dang it, I thought Bolo would keep her distracted for longer. Mind’s blank right now. No one home, leave a message. I guess I could always just tell the truth.</p><p>                “I spent too long in the bath and stopped to talk to Uncle Mimic. Sorry.” All I get in response is a disappointed mom-sigh, but at least she’s not mad anymore. Chef Girl comes over to the table.</p><p>                “Hey everyone! The usual?” Rotty goes first without even waiting for anyone to confirm.</p><p>                “I’ll have black coffee this time. Abner’s been telling me that sugar can gunk up zombies and make them start leaking.”</p><p>                “Classy,” Sky deadpans. “Yes, I’ll have the usual.”  Bolo squints at the menu before studying Chef Girl.</p><p>                “And I’ll have the spi- “</p><p>                “Spiced reuben and pickle fries, got it.”</p><p>                <em>“…Wow.</em> How does she get it every time?” Bolo asks. Rotty giggles to herself while Sky just shakes her head. Chef Girl looks to me.</p><p>                “Uh… yeah, I’ll just have my usual. Listen, I can pick up the tab if- “ Chef Girl interrupts me with a titter.</p><p>                “The Guardian Genie and her friends don’t need to pay. You’re fine. The food should be ready soon.” We go through this every time. She keeps saying I don’t need to pay, but I always leave a hundred gem tip. Every time, without fail. Chef Girl never refutes that one. She moves back to the building with a spring in her step. There’s a minute of silence at the table before I meet Sky eye-to-eye.</p><p>                “So… how are things with you and Micah?”</p><p>                “Hm? Oh, he’s doing fine. The Sultana changed the specifications for royal armor again, so he’s been getting refitted. He’s telling me about the guys that are trying to push for gilding. Apparently, it’s a real point of contention. Told him if he starts coming home glittering like a gem mine, the ring he gets me better be twice as impressive.” Bolo scoffs.</p><p>                “The tin cans at the palace are getting <em>gems</em> in their armor while my guys in Water Town have to make do with secondhand swords and yellow-stained boxing tape. Where’s the justice?” Bolo leans over to get a mouthful of soup before continuing his rant. “And then the second anywhere needs reinforcements, the Fighter’s Guild is the first on call. You should tell your guy to vote out the Sultana. Also, this spoon sucks. It’s really bad at picking up soup and it keeps stabbing my tongue.”</p><p>                “Okay, <em>one,</em> Micah’s a guard. He doesn’t get to decide any of this. <em>Two,</em> you don’t vote for the Sultana. It’s a dynasty. <em>Three,</em> that’s a fork. Your spoon is on the other side of your bowl.” Rottytops lets out an impressively loud raspberry.</p><p>                “Booooring. Who wants to talk about politics at lunch? I’ve got <em>real</em> cool news.”</p><p>                “This oughta be good,” Bolo says leaning forward. “What’d you hear?”</p><p>                “Welll… I was poking around in <strong>BANDIT TOWN, </strong>trying to find someone who would buy an orc skull with three tusks. While I was sitting in their tavern talking with a buyer, I heard some drunken sailors talking. You won’t believe what they saw.”</p><p>                “Let me guess, was it the kraken?” Sky asks after a sip of water.</p><p>                “Was it a colony of vengeful mermaids slapping wayward seamen with pointy fish?” Bolo guesses.</p><p>                “No, you’re both wrong. It was the- “ Chef Girl comes by with a pot of coffee and a mug, which she pours for Rotty.</p><p>                “Here you are. One pot of black coffee. Let me know if you need anything else!” Rotty takes a drink as our server heads back inside. Rottytops smacks her lips and frowns.</p><p>                “Blech. Black coffee sucks. You know, I think Abner might have been pulling one over me. I’m going inside to get some cream and sugar.” Bolo gets up with her.</p><p>                “I gotta take a dump. That soup hits fast.” They head into the building, just leaving me and Sky. Maybe there’s something interesting for dessert. The menu looks nice. She clears her throat.</p><p>                “We need to talk.” Oh great. Not this again.</p><p>                “What’s there to talk about?” She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales.</p><p>                “Shantae, I’ve been trying to help you out of this slump for months. You need to meet me halfway here.”</p><p>                “I’m doing fine, Sky.”</p><p>                “Look, I know it’s been a rough year for you. I could understand being stuck for a few months, but we’re past the point where you should still be in a rut.”</p><p>                “Well, what’s there to do?”</p><p>                “I don’t know, take jobs from the bounty board. Work nights at the dance parlor. Help the sailors load crates at the docks.”</p><p>                “But I’m the- “</p><p>                “Guardian Genie. Yes. I know. Shantae, look around. Everyone’s moved past pirate attacks and monsters. Except you. That’s why I have to send Wrench over to the lighthouse. To make sure you’re okay. Before I started doing that, your friends went <em>weeks</em> without seeing you. You even told me that you were having problems waking up before two!” Why does she have to keep holding this over me?</p><p>                “But I get up anyway. I have to expect danger at any time.” Sky’s got a bit of a twitch in her eye now.</p><p>                <em>“That</em> is the problem. You need to think about the here and now, not potential pirate attacks that <em>might</em> be around the corner. I need to drag you along to see your friends, you blew off every single date I tried to set you up with, and I’m sacrificing <em>my</em> time to try to make you less miserable. Why are you being so difficult?”</p><p>                “Because working the dance parlor isn’t righting the wrongs of the world.”</p><p>                “Is <em>that</em> what this is about? You need to get down off the savior pulpit. Getting obsessed with that kind of thing isn’t healthy. I’m trying to give you an out. Why won’t you let me help you?”</p><p>                <em>“Maybe</em> it’s because I didn’t <em>ask</em> for your help, Sky!” I say a bit too loud. Her eyes are stormy. Lip is wavering. Fists are balling up. Oh gosh. I didn’t mean that. “No, wait, Sky, I- “ All of the dishes clatter as she stands up, slamming her hands on the table.</p><p>                <em>“Never <strong>asked</strong> for my help!? </em>Do you think it’s <strong><em>fun</em></strong> for me watching you run off into the world with no plan and not knowing if you’ll ever come back? Did you think I wasn’t <em>freaking out </em>when I found you sliding down the side of an erupting volcano and wondering what would have happened if I got there late? Have you ever stopped to consider every person <em>I </em>had to apologize to when you stood up obligations?”</p><p>                “I’m sorry…”</p><p>                “Stuff your sorry, half-genie. I don’t want to hear it, and you <em>clearly</em> don’t want my help.” Her chair scrapes as it’s pushed across the ground and she storms away from the table.</p><p>                “Wait, Sky, where are you going?”</p><p>                “Back to my own life, Shantae, because I’m done trying to <em>sort out yours!”</em> Here come the sniffles. Oh no, don’t cry. No. Not in public. Maybe if I smush my hands hard enough against my face no one will hear it. I’m an idiot. Sounds like footsteps heading back towards the table.</p><p>                “So, Bolo got stuck in the toilet. They’re going to have to fish him outta… hey, hey sugar, what’s eatin’ ya?” Okay. I can do this. Just need to hold my chin up high, suck it up, and tell Rotty what happened.</p><p>                “S-Sky… Sky and I…” Hard to talk and cry at the same time. Smooth, Shantae. “We had a- a- a f-fight… and we…” Rottytops scooches into my chair and hugs me over my shoulders.</p><p>                “Aw, c’mon Snack Cakes, don’t be like that. C’mere.” Now I’m in her lap, leaning into her shoulder. “Sky’s probably just cranky today. Fell out the wrong side of the nest or whatever. She was telling me how her boyfriend’s been on call a lot at the palace. Apparently, something weird’s going on up north. The Sultana made it a point to double up security. I guess Sky’s just feeling the stress.”</p><p>                “Yeah…” I’m not sure it was just that. Felt like that argument was coming. Guess we just finally hit the tipping point.</p><p>                “Hey, uh… I had some news for you. You wanna hear what I heard from Bandit Town?<strong>”</strong></p><p>                “What?”</p><p>                “Well, I was there in the tavern, trying to find someone who would buy a three tusked orc skull, when I hear from the bar some drunken sailors talking about a ship they saw heading north-northeast. A ship powered by steam with a big ol’ spiky jaw on it.” Wait… she can’t mean the <strong>TINKERTUB.</strong> And north-northeast of Bandit Town is…</p><p>                “Why would Risky be heading to Mud Bog Island?”</p><p>                “That’s the question, isn’t it?”</p><p>                “And you’re <em>sure</em> this is reliable info?”</p><p>                “Bandits might be jokers, but there are certain lines they don’t cross, even when drunk. Everyone in that bar would have saluted Ms. Risky Booty and lined up to get punched in the face if she asked them. I’ll call it valid.” Finally. It’s been too long. She’s up to something. But why Mud Bog Island? What could be there that she’d need?</p><p>                “Alright. Alright, we’re gonna get to the bottom of this Rotty, you and me. Risky can’t be up to anything good, and we need to stop her before she gets another scheme up and running.” Rotty clears her throat and looks away. “Right? We’re doing this together?”</p><p>                “Look girl, I know you’re excited about this and all… but… I’m not sure I can go there.”</p><p>                “Wait, you suggested this. What’s wrong?”</p><p>                “Abner told me there’s something there I might not want to see.” What could she… oh. <em>Oh.</em> I didn’t know he knew about that.</p><p>                “No, it’s okay, I understand.”</p><p>                “You do?”</p><p>                “Yeah. Go ahead and finish your coffee.” One hundred and twenty-five gems are now on the table in a pouch. “If you got that news a while ago, who knows how close Risky is to the island now?”</p><p>                “Don’t you want to have lunch first?”</p><p>                “But she could already be there by now.”</p><p>                “Aw, come on. Is fifteen more minutes going to kill you?”</p><p>                “…I guess I can at least wait until my food’s done. Get my <strong>TASTY MEAL</strong> to go.”</p><p>                “Attagirl! Now sit down. It’s not like the world’s on fire just yet.” That’s how it always goes, isn’t it? Everything starts out small. Then suddenly the world’s on fire and the balance of light and dark are in peril. And there I am at the center of it all, throwing my blood, sweat, and tears into keeping it all together. It’s not like I can just walk away from that. Quiet or not, my job is still protecting the people of Scuttle Town.</p><p>                I guess this time I’ll just have to start without help.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lament of Orpheus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shantae shoves off to visit Mud Bog Island and catch Risky before she can enact some vile pirate scheme. However, she finds out that all is not well in the realm of the dead.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Shantae</span> </strong>
</p><p>                When stopping one of Risky Boots’ plots, the most important thing I’ve learned is that she’ll always expect me to do some of her dirty work for her. Gathering the <strong>ELEMENTAL STONES.</strong> Taking the <strong>MAGIC SEALS </strong>from those no-good Barons. Even when we worked <em>together, </em>she still had me clear all the dens of evil while she spent all day sitting on her ship. That means this time, I don’t have to collect anything. I just need to stop her from getting to… whatever it is she’s hunting.</p><p>                Right now, though, I don’t really have a lot of info to go from. Just my experience with how she does her thing and where she’s heading. I guess that means I’ll have to do my own searching on the island. First though, I’m going to need supplies. A quick stop at the item shop nets me three <strong>AUTO POTIONS</strong> and a vial of <strong>VANISHING CREAM.</strong> It’s not cheap, but everything counts if I’m going in solo. There’s only one problem, though.</p><p>                I don’t know anyone who’s going to take me to Mud Bog Island.</p><p>                I know for a fact that asking a sailor just means a one-way trip. No one’s going to wait at <em>that</em> shoreline. Normally I might ask Sky, but I think that’s out of the question right now. I’ll need to try and talk things out with her at some point, but this isn’t the time. The <strong>WARP SQUID</strong> at the Palace is still on vacation, and I don’t think there’s a <strong>WARP PEDESTAL </strong>on Mud Bog Island. Well, there is <em>one </em>person I’ve never asked about transport before.</p><p>                Mimic’s workshop isn’t too far away from the item shop. I head in for the second time that day. It looks like Uncle’s done with the pocket watch, but there’s nothing else going on. He’s just putting stuff away, but nods at me as I come in. “Short lunch?” he asks.</p><p>                “Eh heh… got there a bit late. Sky had an emergency, so we had to cut it. Ate my meal on the way here.”</p><p>                “Ah. That’s unfortunate. I suppose life happens. Did you want to talk to me about it?”</p><p>                “Oh, uh, no.” Not entirely true, but there’s more pressing matters right now. “It wasn’t that big a deal. I came by to ask if you had a way to get me to Mud Bog Island.” He looks back at me, losing interest in his tools.</p><p>                “Why ever would you want to visit that cursed place?”</p><p>                “Rottytops got a tip from Bandit Town. Risky’s headed that direction. I think she’s planning something.”</p><p>                “Do you know that for a fact?”</p><p>                “Well… <em>no, </em>but- “</p><p>                “Then why get worked up over it?” I- <em>is he serious?</em></p><p>                “Uncle, you said it yourself. That place is cursed. Plus, Risky has been gone for a long time. There’s a bounty for her on every corner of the mainland and every island in the Sultana’s jurisdiction! Why would she be coming back this way <em>now</em> if she wasn’t planning something?”</p><p>                “Shantae, you’re talking about the woman who was the first mate for the Pirate Master. Your mother put it best: she’s a vicious creature of dark magic, forged in misery and greed. There were others like her. Perhaps the monsters are simply calling her home.”</p><p>                “I don’t buy it, Uncle. She wouldn’t risk getting this close to naval patrols unless there was something worth her attention there.”</p><p>                “Maybe, but Mud Bog Island is a very dangerous place. I don’t want you going out there and getting hurt.”</p><p>                “I’ve been preparing. I’ll be fine. I <em>know</em> that something isn’t right. I just don’t know what it is yet.”</p><p>                “Is there no way I can talk you out of this?” I put my hands on my hips, puff my chest out, and stand tall. He knows what that means.</p><p>                “Nope.”</p><p>                “…Fine. I suppose I should ask first why you aren’t using a <strong>WARP DANCE</strong> to get there?”</p><p>                “It’s been years since I’ve done that. I’m kinda afraid to see what happens if I mess it up. Plus, I don’t think I ever learned one that would get me out there.”</p><p>                “Well, in that case, if you need the transport, I do have something. Follow me to the back of the shop.” I step over emptied boxes and scattered metal plates into the rear, where Uncle’s crouched down near something big and round covered by a sheet. “I remember excavating the original in the <strong>BARON DESERT </strong>before you were a twinkle in your mother’s eye.” He pulls the sheet off, revealing a big brass thing with thin strips of metal folded into it.</p><p>                “It could hardly keep aloft when I found it then,” he continued. “Once I figured out the power of steam engines, I decided to revise the design. If you’ve got some coal to feed into the mechanism, it flies like a dream. I never ended up doing much with it since everyone was digging up magic carpets by the time I finished the blasted thing. Didn’t see much point in going public with it, so it’s been back here ever since.”</p><p>                “What do you call it, Uncle?”</p><p>                “I call it the Flying Whirlimagig. These bits of metal jut out of it and start spinning when you fill the engine and pull the cord on the inside. From there, you tilt a stick on the inside to push it in the direction you’d like it to go. Pulling up on the stick makes it rise and pressing down gets it to drop altitude.” Mimic pulls a level nearby, opening the roof of the workshop with the sound of grinding machinery.</p><p>                “Thank you so much! I’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on, I promise.”</p><p>                “I’ll trust your judgement, Shantae, but please do be careful.”</p><p>                “I will, I promise.” With that, I get inside the Whirlimagig, where Uncle Mimic passes me some coal. A couple pieces in the engine then pull the cord, like he says. There’s a click as the metal strips jut up and fold out, beginning to spin. “I’ll be back soon! Risky Boots won’t know what hit her!”</p><p>                With that, the chassis lifts off the ground and into the sky, clearing the workshop as I start navigating to Mud Bog Island.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                I didn’t realize how fast this thing goes. It’s only late afternoon by the time the island comes into view. Because of the island’s curse of eternal night, it starts getting darker as I get closer. Now I’ve got to fly through the mist. The ride’s starting to get a bit shaky. The engine’s still got enough coal in it. I wonder what’s making it so unstable. Guess it’s time to park this thing somewhere. Once I’m through the mist, I find somewhere on the eastern shore to touch down then step out.</p><p>                Ew. I forgot how mushy this place was. Whatever, I’ve got a pirate to catch! The island isn’t <em>that </em>big. I’ll probably find her before the day’s over.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                East end of the island looks clear. Mostly just muck men and beetles. Nothing the old winsome locks can’t handle.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                North end’s got nothing. Mostly just some straggling ghosts. Getting plenty of gems and loot, but no sign of Risky.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                No boat on the west side, either. Huh. That can’t be right. She didn’t already get here, did she? Might as well check the old den of evil…</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                Is it getting dark? Hard to tell on this island. Den of evil turned out empty. Geezy petes, it’s not like there’s much to <em>visit </em>here. No boat on the south end either. There aren’t many places I can think she might check. Hmm… maybe someone in the Village of Lost Souls knows where she’s been. I seem to remember that the <strong>HEXER</strong> got locked up inside at some point, so the living and the dead can now move freely between the realms. It’s possible she might have interrogated the spirits to get what she’s after.</p><p>                So, up the path from the south shore I go, looking for the home of the dead. It was towards the middle of the island, if I’m remembering right. Creatures jump me at every available opportunity, but they aren’t more than a bump in the road. Not hard to take down, but I could almost swear there’s more of them than I remember. Still getting nicks and scrapes all the while.</p><p>                After clomping through mud and monster bits for what feels like hours, the trees finally start to thin out. After cresting a small hill, I now overlook the entrance to the village. That giant cave stretching from the goop was some ancient predator, petrified in the middle of its hunt. At least that’s the legend is. Just as well, it looks like the Hexer is back where he’s supposed to be. I kinda wish I’d brought the <strong>DEATH MASK</strong> with me, but I think might be able to go without. It looks like his eye is gone.</p><p>                Coming closer to the cave sends anxiety a jolt of anxiety through my body with every step. It’s not coming <em>from</em> me; I can say that much. Gosh, my legs really aren’t interested in listening to my brain on this one. The cave wasn’t nearly this scary last time I was here. Maybe it’s a magic ward? Never seen one that gives fear. It’s usually like a barrier or some kind of proximity triggered fire-spitter. It takes effort, but I’m getting closer.</p><p>                Now I’m within smelling distance of the Hexer. Last time, he turned me away for being alive. He hasn’t moved an inch this time. His cloak is even more raggedy, threadbare and filled with holes. What little skin he had on his skull has dried out, turning from purple to an unsettling shade of leathery brown. The exposed ribs of his torso are now cracked and yellowing. Those bug-like mandibles are moving, but only a little. Out of his mouth is what sounds like dozens of overlapping conversations whispered all at once, but I can make out one phrase, repeated over and over.</p><p>                <em>“New arrivals.”</em></p><p>                I don’t think he’s going to stop me. Once I manage to get past the entrance of the cave, the worst of the nervous sensation wears off. It’s about as I remembered it. A lot of purple and red stone, wood, and lava. It’s also miserably hot and stinks like old meat left in a burning building.</p><p>                Monsters are oddly docile here. I didn’t notice it at first, since they appeared to be keeping out of the main causeway into the village. Then I saw the first <strong>ARCHER. </strong>There were strange bald patches on her head, accompanying twitchy, wide eyes. Her mask was stained with flecks of something reddish-brown. Skimpy clothes were torn and covered with dark blotches. One of her hands, shaking, repeatedly groped for arrows that were no longer in her holster. One of her pale blue legs was twisted at a painful angle, reducing her to a sloppy limp. I could catch the low mumblings of arrow-tongue as she passed me by, ignoring my battle stance.</p><p>                Everything else was like that too. <strong>REAPERS</strong> just lolled along in the air, never giving a thought to using their scythes. The <strong>NAGA </strong>dragged themselves around like wet noodles, weirdly low-energy and with heads slumped towards the ground. Even the <strong>GHOSTS </strong>were more interested in vanishing to avoid me instead of stalking close like they normally do. It’s like they barely even know I’m here.</p><p>                Once past the causeway, I can see the village. The red stone buildings tower over the shadowy spirits shuffling around below. Purple bricked castles overlook the crowd, though there’s no one in them. Wooden walkways connect the doors from the lower levels to the upper. In town, I have to push through the crowd to try and make any headway. I don’t remember there being so many occupants in the village. I guess the Hexer was talking about new arrivals, but where are they all coming from? Either way, I’m here to get information.</p><p>                “Hey, has anyone here seen a purple skinned lady-pirate asking around and looking for anything?” Responses aren’t very useful.</p><p>                “Nope.”</p><p>                “Uh-uh.”</p><p>                “Nada.”</p><p>                “I like purple parrots.”</p><p>                There’s a familiar face up on one of the platforms. Messy brown hair, yellow headband, button up shirt, and green skirt. It’s Rottytops! Or, well, at least her spirit. I jump from the crowd onto a platform, walking up a wooden walkway to meet her. She’s sitting down, swinging her legs over the edge of the walkway and looking out over the crowd. She turns to look at me and smiles as I come up.</p><p>                “Hello, friend! Good to see you back here.”</p><p>                “Hiya uh… friend. Remember your name yet?” She scratches her chin then shrugs.</p><p>                “Nah. Still having dreams though.” Rotty sighs wistfully, kicking her legs. “It hasn’t been much easier recently. Everything around here has been pretty crazy.”</p><p>                “I noticed. The Hexer mentioned something about new arrivals. Is that what’s making everything so weird?”</p><p>                “Yeah. There’s just been so many. Plus, they’re bringing some kinda psychic distress with them. It’s really putting a damper on the mood here.” The mood’s being brought down in a stinking, lava filled dump. There’s a new surprise around every corner. “All of the previous residents have had to start moving up. It’s been getting so bad that we’ve had to shove the new ones all in the <strong>PIT.”</strong></p><p>                “When did this all start happening?”</p><p>                “Uh… I don’t know, exactly. Kinda hard to tell how time passes here. Wasn’t very long ago. I think it started with the arrival of that <strong>COFFIN.”</strong></p><p>“…Coffin?” She gets up, with a look that screams mischief.</p><p>                “Yeah. It’s up there, past the village,” Rotty explains, jogging up the platform. “All the <strong>SHAMBLERS </strong>started showing up not long after that thing.”  </p><p>                “What’s a shambler?”</p><p>                “I’ll show you after we see the coffin.” We’ve crested over the buildings to a red, dusty mesa. You can see the underworld for miles around up this high. We cross the mesa over featureless terrain until we find a shiny wooden box at the center. It’s got gold handles on the sides and a folded piece of cloth on top. The cloth has a blue square with stars on it, as well as red and white stripes. Just above that is a plaque, though the inscription’s got a bunch of letters scratched out.</p><p>
  <em>‘E----- Mo---- --ak-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--24 – 1--5’</em>
</p><p>                Between the plaque and the cloth is a little yellow button with a smiley face on it. Smudged, but cute. On the side looks like a padlock made of obsidian. Must have been put on by someone here. I wonder who’d bother locking up a coffin? Rotty steps up to it, looking the box over. “Isn’t this weird looking?”</p><p>                “I guess, but I don’t get how a coffin would cause the underworld to flood.”</p><p>                “I think it’s some kind of ancient warlock putting a curse on the realm.”</p><p>                “What makes you think that?”</p><p>                “This.” She knocks repeatedly on the box. There’s a groan from inside before it starts to become muffled screaming and banging from the inside. “I guess warlocks don’t like being woken up.”</p><p>                “That- that’s <em>horrible!</em> Someone’s trapped in there!” Rotty looks away sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head.</p><p>                “It’s not like I can <em>do </em>anything to get them out. This casket’s locked up tight and there’s no key.” The keyhole is large, slightly rounded, and has a gritty outer edge. I’ll have to keep my eye out for anything that fits.</p><p>                “I… I guess. I can’t imagine anyone who would deserve to get locked up like that. Especially if they’ve been in there a while.”</p><p>                “Well, I can show you a different kind of upsetting if you still want to see the shamblers.”</p><p>                “I’m not sure I <em>want</em> to, but this could be important. Where are they?”</p><p>                “Down there,” she explains, moving towards the edge of the mesa. My eyes follow where her finger’s pointing, down to a giant crater in the landscape the size of a lake. Something- er, a <em>lot</em> of things are moving in there.</p><p>                “Wow.”</p><p>                “Yeah. Now you see why all of the spirits have had to move up here?”</p><p>                “Geez, there must be… I dunno, at least a thousand villages worth of people down there!”</p><p>                “They’re even worse up close. C’mon, let’s take the fast way down.” Rotty steps off the mesa, sliding down the rockface on her back. I crouch down the edge then push forward, sliding down in a sitting position. I reach the bottom a bit after she does. We both get up, trying to dust ourselves off. I got a bunch of dirt in my pants. <em>Man, </em>it’s itchy. I’m gonna need another bath after I get home.</p><p>                “By the way,” I mention, “Did you happen to see a pirate with a skull bikini any time recently?”</p><p>                “Sounds familiar. Think I heard something about pirates in one of my dreams, but I don’t really recall the details. This place has a way of making you forget.” Looks like Risky hasn’t been around here, then. I could head out, but something going wrong in the underworld could be a sign of things to come. That mumbling I heard from the Hexer is back. This time, though, there’s nothing to pick out. Just a bunch of whispers coming from every direction, too many words overlapping to sound like anything more than gibberish. That dread is coming back again. I’m lagging behind Rotty, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She looks over the edge of the pit. “Well, there they are.” Fighting past every urge to run and never look back, I join her at the lip of the crater.</p><p>                Awful. Horrible. Heartbreaking. I can’t think of enough words to describe what I’m seeing.</p><p>                People. This pit is full of people. Young, old, everything in between. Every skin color you can think of. Plenty of different styles of clothes, too. Pants, button up shirts, suits, dresses, skirts, jackets, coats. They’re all stumbling over each other. Blood is dripping from every hole in their head. Their mouths are open wide, but nothing’s coming out. They clamber blindly over each other, tearing at clothes and skin. Hardly anyone seems to notice when a finger comes off or an eye is torn out or someone’s trampled. Then I realize that they aren’t quiet.</p><p>                <em>They’re screaming.</em></p><p>                The sound suddenly hits me. Uncountable voices all call out once. Begging. Crying. Praying. It’s not coming from out there, but in my head. I can’t escape it. Getting dizzy. Eyes watering. I’m gonna be <em>sick.</em> Rotty notices and puts her arm around my shoulder, taking me away from the grisly crater. “Maybe we shouldn’t stay too close to those. Sometimes that group anguish manifests into these nightmarish <strong>GRIEF APPARITIONS,</strong> and you don’t want to be near here when that happens.”  There’s a sound like the air getting sucked away before some shadowy blob starts to form, dropping to the ground as a pulsing mess.</p><p>                “Ah, pooperdoodle,” Rotty mutters. “There it is.”</p><p>                Shadows start to turn into dripping red, pulsating muscle. Spines jut from the creature as dog like legs fold from beneath it to raise the blob from the ground. Compound insect eyes form along its front as green and yellow tentacles sprout from its upper half. Garbled words pour from a beaked lamprey’s mouth as its gaze locks on us. I wipe my eyes and stand tall.</p><p>                “I’ve got it.”</p><p>
  <em> <span class="u">Grief Apparition</span> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gruesome Composite of Deathly Emotion</em>
</p><p>                It starts its assault with a screech, dipping low and charging forward. Rotty and I dodge out of the way as it stumbles, trying to stop its charge. I dash behind it and let the hair fly, giving the thing a few bleeding green wounds. The monster screeches then turns around, whipping tentacles repeatedly against the ground in front of it. One of them catches me in the gut and throws me towards the pit. Landed just short of the edge. I need to be careful! Dog legs are now bowing down as it does short hops across the stone, lashing out with a spiny tentacle after every bound. I duck under the jumping horror and lash it a few more times across the back. It turns to face me again, eyes low and vibrating.</p><p>                <strong><em>“FLAMETHROWER!”</em></strong> I jut out my hands as a red-hot stream of guttering fire pours forth, licking against its muscle and eyes, flickering as it catches. The apparition screeches as it lights up like a pig on a spit. It lunges forward, slamming me with several tentacles at once. I black out for a second before an auto potion shatters, restoring me back to full. Smoke is now pouring off it as the fire begins to spread further along its back.</p><p>                Now it’s thrashing and flailing, but not going down. The beak opens as the sound of gathering liquid gurgles down its gullet. Dash to the left, narrowly missing a huge glob of acidic goo. <strong><em>“SCIMITAR!”</em></strong> A carousel of whirling blades surrounds me as I close in on the horror, whipping it in the face. The thing recoils back as the flames spread to the lacerations being opened on what passes for its head. The beak darts for me, missing by an inch as it snaps shut. One of the blades catches it at the back of the throat as its legs wobble.</p><p>                In true boss fashion, it begins to explode, little bursts of energy sending pieces of the thing up into the air with streams of green gore following. During it, the Grief Apparition staggers back, tripping over the edge of the crater as a final explosion turns it into chunks that rocket out of the pit. Boss finales aren’t usually that messy.</p><p>                “You did it!” Rotty cheers, coming up from behind a rock. “That was awesome! I’d hate to be whoever’s cleaning <em>that </em>up!” Distantly, I can hear something rumbling.</p><p>                “What’s that?” She pauses and cups her ear, listening.</p><p>                “I think it’s coming from the direction of that break into that Genie Tomb.” Wait a second… ooh, <em>Risky Boots! </em>I spent too much time fighting the apparition. She must have got whatever she came here for!</p><p>                “Can you take me to the break?”</p><p>                “Sure thing. This way!” We both dash like mad for the entrance, though the sound of crumbling turns to collapsing stones and screaming monsters as we get close. By the time we’re at the entrance of a purple cavern, rocks have already blocked it off.</p><p>                “Aw, heck, how am I supposed to catch Risky now!?” Now we can hear mud flowing into something from above.</p><p>                “Not that way. Maybe your pirate got out through the old quarry entrance. There’s another way out just a bit up. Come on.” A series of rocky platforms lead up and out of the cavern, taking us to the surface. We now stand before a circular quarry with a half-dozen layers, stars poking through the fog of the island.</p><p>                “Where could she be…?”</p><p>                “Wow. It’s pretty up here. Didn’t think that it would be this much better than the village.”</p><p>                “…We’re standing in a reeking, cursed swamp.”</p><p>                “I know! And you can see the stars and the sky and the mist. It’s not just rock and grumpy spirits. I think I’ve got some soul searching to do. I’ll catch up with you.”</p><p>                “Wait, where’s the other entrance!?”</p><p>                “Just across the way there, second level from the top. We’ll meet again, I promise!” With that, she wanders off. I’m hoofing it across the quarry as thunder rumbles above. Great. Rain on top of everything else. This’ll be fun. Sounds like more thunder, too. Wait, no. That didn’t come from above. That was on the other side of the quarry. Lightning flashes and rain starts as I get closer. I can see things happening. Looks like someone jumping between the columns in the middle of the quarry. Big mass of small shapes near the entrance on the far side. Opposite me, the sound becomes clearer. That isn’t thunder. It’s gunfire. The brief illumination from the shot reveals a familiar outline.</p><p>Risky.</p><p>                I <em>knew </em>she had something to do with this. She’s shooting at whoever’s jumping across those platforms. I run on the other side to keep up. Looks like the jumper is getting across the pit. I hear her shout from the other side through the rain.</p><p>                “I’ll pry the gauntlet off your <em>corpse!</em> Hold still!” Wow. Never seen her try to <em>kill</em> someone over treasure before. Normally it’s just that smarmy cackle and a promise that it’s all a part of the plan. This is serious! Another gunshot rings out. The jumper stumbles as they touch down on the next platform.</p><p>                “Fuck! <em>Again!?”</em> Wait, I recognize that deep, scratchy voice. It was that guy from earlier today. Detective guy. The one with the mask. Uh… dang it, why don’t I remember this one. Oh, right! Rod-shock! No, wait, something like that. Whatever. Wait, <em>what is he doing here? And why is Risky Boots trying to murder him?</em> He tries to jump for the edge of the quarry and faceplants into it. He slumps.</p><p>                Omigoshomigoshomigoshhesgonnafall!</p><p>                I jump down to a lower level and prepare myself, leaping towards the edge. Risky is laughing. I hope I’m positioned right. Looks like he’s going headfirst. I reach just in time to grab his leg. He manages to brace himself against the wall and not faceplant again. He’s not <em>heavy </em>exactly, but I’m still trying to hold a full-grown man by myself. He looks up at me. <em>“Little help?” </em>I squeak out.</p><p>                With my assistance, he crabwalks back up the wall and I pull him to his feet before shoving him on his way. We can’t be dallying. The Pirate Queen herself has finally noticed me. “Come on, Risky’s catching up!”</p><p>                “The pirate?” What’s with this guy? Didn’t he just get <em>shot</em> by her?</p><p>                “Guh- I- <em>who else would it be?</em> Move!” Now we’re looping back around the quarry. The rain’s coming down harder than ever, and Risky’s decided to start up a conversation.</p><p>                “Great, the runt’s here too! Turn him over and <em>run,</em> little girl! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!”</p><p>                “No, Risky! I won’t let you kill anyone!”</p><p>                “Then you’re going down first!” I check over my shoulder and true to her word, her pistol’s pointed at me. I manage to time a roll forward just as she shoots, avoiding lead in the back. The quarry ends just up here. I jump clear of the quarry and detective guy follows, almost falling over his feet as he tries to catch up.</p><p>                <strong><em>“SHANTAE!” </em></strong>Risky yells after me. No use looking back. I think <em>someone</em> already grabbed what she was looking for. My lungs are burning by the time we get back to the shore where I parked my transport. The detective- no, <em>Rorschach, </em>now I remember. He’s checking both ways on the beach like he’s looking for something. I don’t really have time to entertain him on that. Now he’s staring at the Whirlimagig.</p><p>                “Get in,” I say.</p><p>                “Going where?”</p><p>                “Back to Scuttle Town. You’re clearly hurt, and Risky Boots will tear this island apart looking for us. Plus, those… things in the Village of Lost Souls freak me out.”</p><p>                “In cave shaped like giant creature?” So, he’s seen it too. Not the inside, I'm guessing.</p><p>                “Yeah. That one.”</p><p>                “What <em>things?” </em>I really am not in the mood to talk about this right now. I’m not even sure he’d recognize the term ‘shambler.’</p><p>                “Zombies, I think. They look wrong, though. Are you coming in or do you like standing in the rain?” I get inside of the transport, checking the coal reserve on the flying machine. I hear him step through, shutting the door then plopping his wet butt down on one of the passenger seats.</p><p>                “What’s this?” he asks.</p><p>                “This is my Uncle Mimic’s Flying Whirlimagig. It’s a prototype, but it works great. Normally I would have asked Sky for a ride, but… she’s <em>kinda </em>not supposed to know I’m here.” Not a lie, technically. If what she told me at lunch was true, she’d <em>flip out</em> if she found out I went here without telling anyone. Oh. <em>Sky</em>. I need to make things right with her.</p><p>                He grunts and goes quiet. I can hear some shifting fabric, but that’s about it otherwise. There’s so many things running through my head right now and not enough answers. Why are those things showing up in the Village of Lost Souls? What’s up with that coffin? Why was Risky looking for a gauntlet? What’s so valuable about it that she’d be willing to personally murder someone to get it? Why was Rorschach here in the first place? Does he know anything about the gauntlet? I glance back at him, and he’s staring at me. I guess he wanted to go first with questions.</p><p>                “You found me. How?” By accident, but that isn’t all there is.</p><p>                “Well… it’s kind of a long story.”</p><p>                Maybe he’ll be willing to help. I feel like something is brewing. Something ugly. I think I’ve been through worse, but you can’t be a Guardian Genie without having a sense for when things are going wrong. I know in the pit of my heart that I’ve stumbled into something <em>big </em>this time. Whatever it is, everyone will be able to feel it.</p><p>                I just hope people believe me enough to help. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. When in Rome...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finding an unlikely partnership, Rorschach and Shantae decide to hunt for information.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">Rorschach</span>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Rorschach’s Journal</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>November 3<sup>rd</sup>, 1985</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                It is strange to think that woman I ran into on street would save my life later that day. Shantae explained that she had other business on island. Happened upon my predicament. Saved me from pirate known as Risky Boots. Even offered rapid transport back to Scuttle Town. Quite the coincidence, but I’m no fatalist. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Currently residing in the Guardian Genie’s beachside home. I could sense questions would flow, but she was too tired to do much other than offer me lowest floor then scramble up rope to top level. Can hear her snoring as I write. Did not think woman so small could make such noise. Not rebuking hospitality, though. Spare mat down here works fine. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                I find myself increasingly apprehensive at realities of so-called ‘Sequin Land.’ Magic now flows through me thanks to artifact in Genie Tomb. Dark Conduit. Name was whispered to me by soft female voice in ancient ruin. Told of impending calamity. Large in scale. Terrorists, perhaps? Not ruling out mundane rationale yet. Still unsure voice wasn’t mere hallucination. These new powers on the other hand, are not. Survived being shot. Running and jumping like Olympic athlete. Reflexes tuned enough to dodge bullets. Anyone could have stumbled upon this. Yet I now control it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                The pirate, Risky Boots, has a vested interest in this artifact. Never explained why. Just tried to kill me. Genie believes it is part of pirate’s plot for world domination. Sounds like contrivance but is apparently a recurring problem. Might have underestimated scantily clad pirate if she hadn’t almost killed me. Her prowess is frightening. Could probably beat Veidt hand to hand. Harnessing ‘source of chaos’ not outside realm of possibility for her.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Shantae is the one who always stops the pirate. Equally physically adept. Wields destructive magic and ability to shapeshift. Thinks quickly under pressure. Noticed equal parts excitement and nervousness as she told me day’s events. Seemed hesitant to mention acquaintances at table when pressed. Warrants further investigation. Only way forward for now is to do research on this impending apocalypse. She asked to accompany me to library at palace. Perhaps there is something to all of this. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                For all that has happened in this new world, I fear for back home. Can’t stop thinking about senseless death. My guts burn for need to stop lechers and cutpurses and marauders spilling blood in the dark corners of the earth. The ones who smirk out of the public eye as their crimes go unnoticed. Still hearing the rats scratching at brick and the wailing cats at night that mock my efforts. I heard them when they told me it all meant nothing. Chose to ignore them. Cannot rest for a second. Will impose meaning where none exists. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                I cannot waver, even here.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Rorschach, November 3<sup>rd</sup>, 1985.  </strong>
</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                Awakening feels miserable this morning. Felt itchy all night. Power of the magic wriggles in my skin like swarm of scabies. Head stings. Possibly dehydration. Near-drowning in sea is no substitute for drinking water. I get up and go to flaking green cupboard across the room. Filled with fruits and scattered dishware. Breakfast is handful of dried dates followed with cup of water. Goes down cold but soothes pounding headache. Surprising to think head injury hasn’t lingered.</p><p>                Snoring from above has abated. I mount the rope that leads to upper level and climb. Shantae is putting her hair into ponytail. Difficult to realize just how long hair is when down. Makes sense given she weaponizes it. Sees me in her mirror. “Good morning, Rorschach!”</p><p>                “Morning, Miss Shantae.”</p><p>                “You don’t need to say ‘Miss.’ I’m not an old woman.”</p><p>                “Honorific, not indictment of age.” She rummages around in her nightstand. I look at the books above her hammock. <em>History of the Genies, Dancing for Fun and Profit, Steven Amgil’s Philosophy of Jobs and Death, Steam Dynamics for the Thick Headed, More than Just Feelings.</em> Shantae taps me on the shoulder.</p><p>                “I’ve got my <strong>LIBRARY CARD.</strong> We can stop to give your job notice to the mayor on the way back.”</p><p>                “Hrm. Don’t care for bloated hog.” She stifles a snicker then clears her throat.</p><p>                “Yeah, he’s difficult to deal with, but it’s better than the alternatives.”</p><p>                “Such as?”</p><p>                <strong>“AMMO BARON</strong>. He bought the town and tried to turn the school into a long-range cannon. Or there was that time Squid Baron wanted to occupy part of the lighthouse so he could be a ‘legal stockholder’ and try to boss me around. He dropped the deal when he was told he’d have to pay for landmark upkeep. There was also when Bolo accidentally got ahold of the town deed for a day and tried to turn it into a ‘babe preserve.’ There was also- “</p><p>                “Point made. Nobility has no oversight?”</p><p>                “Well… they aren’t <em>legally</em> barons, they’re just treasure hunting jerks who call themselves that for the prestige.” Down the rope and out of the lighthouse we go. “Oh, also, we’ll need to take the flying machine back to Uncle Mimic’s workshop. I still need to check in so he doesn’t think I’ve died or something.”</p><p>                “Frequent occurrence?”</p><p>                “Sort of. Usually my friends help me on adventures, so I don’t need to keep reporting back unless I need advice. That was the first time in a long time I was mostly on my own.”</p><p>                “Should take action, regardless of help.”</p><p>                <em>“Thank you!</em> Someone else gets it! Risky Boots is out there trying to do who knows what, and everyone else just tells me I’m overreacting. It’s like they’ve all forgotten what it means to be town protectors.”</p><p>                “Getting soft, then. Don’t rely on them.”</p><p>                “You’re jumping the fence here,” she dismisses. “They’ll understand the score once I explain it to them.”</p><p>                “Thought that once, too.” Silence is palpable. Warm breeze flits over sand and rustles watching bushes. Sun just as bright as yesterday. She’s quiet until we reach gates of Scuttle Town.</p><p>                “Why the mask?”</p><p>                “My face,” I correct.</p><p>                “Uh… sure. Like, is it fused to your head? How do you see out of it? Is it mirrors or something?”</p><p>                “Special material. Fluid suspended in latex, always changing shape but never mixing. Perspective inside is clearer.”</p><p>                “That makes sense… I guess. Can you take it off?”</p><p>                “Yes.”</p><p>                “Will you?”</p><p>                “If I need disguise.”</p><p>                “Is that why you’re also wearing a trench coat in tropical heat?”</p><p>                “All I had when I got here.”</p><p>                “That’s gotta <em>suck</em>. You must be baking in there!”</p><p>                “I’m fine.” Road into town passes by large building with wide entrance. The genie stops. Can see in from outside. Raised stage. Workbench. Crates scattered about. Loose bits of metal on tables.</p><p>                “This is the workshop. I’ll be out in <em>just</em> a second. You can wait here.”</p><p>                “Can go ahead to library. No reason to stop.”</p><p>                “You’re not going to be able to get in without my card…”</p><p>                “…Hrm.” I lean against outer wall as she heads in. Get chance to observe bustle of morning market. Woman walks by balancing clay pot on head. Gaggle of laughing children sprint past. Tag, perhaps. Heavyset man pulls wagon by himself, sweating and cursing. Wonder why there are no draft animals here. Sounds of haggling drown out ocean’s call in the distance.</p><p>                Check my watch. Three minutes. Red liquid on back plate is refilled. Not quite thick enough to be blood. Bubbles like soda. Slightly translucent. Sloshes in time with heartbeat. How long does it take to check in with someone? Peek inside workshop. Shantae talking with older man. Mimic, I presume. Thickly built. Large green overcoat. Long white beard. Can’t make out conversation.</p><p>                Wonder where her parents are. Only remnants of my father in memory are vile mother’s occasional mutterings about ‘Charlie.’ <em>“No-good, cigar chomping, Guinness-soaked coal mining paddy. Suck started his old Webley a few years after I popped out his hellion on two legs. Too little, too late if you ask me. Hope he has fun in hell with Truman.” </em>No other family I ever met. Did they ever know about me? Or even exist? Parents were thoroughly miserable. Other children unforgiving and mocking. Journal provides little but own words played back to piece together. No conversation or differing thoughts to be had. Sometimes want to confide in someone who <em>understands.</em></p><p>                Makes me wish I had an uncle.</p><p>                Shantae comes out of the workshop. “Got everything squared with Uncle Mimic. He said he wants to study your gauntlet later, if that’s okay with you.”</p><p>                “Won’t be able to take it off but will see about it.”</p><p>                “Okay, good. I thought there might be an argument on that. Mimic can be a bit stubborn when he wants to look at something new.”</p><p>                “Your uncle?”</p><p>                “Yep. He’s a good guy, honest, just… I dunno, crotchety sometimes?”</p><p>                “Have any other family?” She swallows, bringing fingers up to twirl loose bit of hair around finger before tucking it behind ear.</p><p>                “Well, n- sort of. I never got to meet my parents. They’re still around, I think. Mimic is all I remember though.” Then her back straightens and she’s chipper once more. “But my friends have been great to me, so they’re basically my family. What about you?”</p><p>                “No one worth mentioning.”</p><p>                “That… are you an orphan?” Eyes widen and hands clap to mouth as cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean to say it like that! I’m so sorry!”</p><p>                “Not an orphan. It’s fine.”</p><p>                “Wait, so what do you… <em>oh.”</em> The genie folds her arms across her midriff, and we continue towards palace. Travel takes us through misty woods outside of town. Towering trees covered in lime green moss. Orange fruits size of bowling balls sprout from branches, framed with soft leaves. Flowers of varying colors hide among ferns and bushes. <strong>ONE-EYED SPIDERS</strong> watch from treetops. Can hear heavy footsteps through foliage as large green creatures with tusks and purple bat wings trundle along.</p><p>                “There’s a faster route to the palace if you don’t mind beating up some monsters. Might let you put that gauntlet to good use,” she offers. I roll my shoulders. Soreness from yesterday completely gone. Could be opportunity to learn patterns of these creatures.</p><p>                “Sure. Lead the way.” We take off in a sprint towards northeast. Both of us effortlessly leap small chasms and dodge clinging underbrush. Green brute steps onto path. Shantae reacts first, dodging under a clawed swipe to whip her hair into its gut, piercing black leather cuirass. Violet ichor pours from hole. Beast tries to take flight, but is interrupted when Guardian Genie lunges forward, driving elbow into wound then finishing with spinning kick. Monster goes down in spray of teeth and bone fragments. Yellow gem tumbles from corpse, which Shantae catches and pockets.</p><p>                “One nothing, Rorschach! Keep up!” Leap over pit. Keeping neck and neck with Shantae. She jumps on giant stump, then bounds effortlessly up to branches. Can hear sounds of battle above. Serpent woman tunnels up from dirt to ambush me. I get low, speeding forward before driving my shoulder into its chest. Horror hisses in pain. Bowled onto its back. Quick kick to head finishes it. Catch small gem flying from it. More beasts move forward to challenge. Must keep momentum. I am ready.</p><p>                Green brute’s jaw shatters like porcelain vase. Follow with punch to temple. Next. Spider dangles down. Smashed between magic metal and unyielding tree. Next. Archer springs from bush. Sidestep arrow volley. Break her ribs with closed fist, send sprawling down sinkhole. Adrenaline running high. I am <em>alive!</em></p><p>                Exhilaration comes at cost. Feet suddenly lose purchase. Tumble down. Roll over branches and coarse dirt. Come to stop face down. Push up. Ow. Ceiling is low. Need to crawl here. Small cave. Knees getting scuffed. Spend time wriggling through. Enough room to stand now. Ten-foot cube alcove, roughly. Dimly lit by light filtering from above. Vibrant ruby glitters under sliver of day. Fist sized. Kneel to investigate. Something roils inside of gem. Pick it up.</p><p>                Effect is immediate. Bloody hue dulls to translucent gray. Seams of gauntlet flash dark light then leak red. Sound like water in vacuum cleaner follows. Heart thumps loudly in ears for some seconds. Can feel blood vessels contract and expand. Dull pain in head flares then dies. <strong>You found a VITALITY RUBY! Collect all eight!</strong></p><p>                …Seems to happen when I pick up certain things. The music. Strange thoughts. Meant to be helpful? Who’s doing it? Inspect gauntlet. Red fluid takes up third of backplate. Vitality Ruby. “<em>Rorschach?”</em> Shantae’s voice echoes from above. Jump out of cavern back onto surface. She’s just above cave. Startles when I pop up in front of her. “Gah! There you are! Thought I lost you for a second.”</p><p>                “Music ever play in your head?”</p><p>                “Yeah. I think that happens for everyone. Have you never gotten a <em>really</em> good song stuck-? “</p><p>                “Not like that.”</p><p>                “Ah, you mean that catchy triumphant sting that plays whenever you pick up an important item?” Someone says from above. Guardian Genie groans and rubs temples. New informant jumps down from trees. Ground shakes with impact. Large red octopus with stubby tentacles. Large yellow eyes. Pronounced lower tooth.</p><p>                “Squid Baron, not now.”</p><p>                “What, I’m not allowed to drop down from the scenery and wish my on again/off again buddy a good day?”</p><p>                “…”</p><p>                “Okay, you got me, that’s not why I’m here.”</p><p>                “Why <em>are </em>you here then? My friend and I need to get to the palace library on the double.”</p><p>                “This is the second time I’ve ever seen you go to the library. You going to blow me off for books? You turning into a big ol’ nerd now? Was it that guy?” He points at me. “Is <em>that</em> guy turning you into a bona fide poindexter? You’re not supposed to spend so much time reading in a visual medium, you know.” Rapidly losing patience. Her <em>and</em> me.</p><p>                “Okay, okay, I wasn’t trying to be rude. Now, what do you want?”</p><p>                “Glad you asked! You see, I’ve been trying to… uh…”</p><p>                “Spit it out.”</p><p>                “I can’t remember. Your friend’s face is really soothing to look at and I forgot what I was about to say.” Looks directly to me. “Do I know you from somewhere?”</p><p>                “Don’t know. Was in news recently.”</p><p>                “I don’t keep up with current events. I’ve realized though, that your character design <em>speaks </em>to me.  Has anyone ever told you’ve got a face for comics?” Pinching bridge of nose. Reminded of Veidt’s attempts to get me talking to marketing team. “Like, with the right name, you’d be <em>unforgettable.</em> It’s gotta play off that mystery thing you’ve got going on. I dunno, something like… The Ques- <em>no, The Riddler!</em> You could speak in limericks and be a wise old sage type, mentoring a feisty hero with a determined streak and everything to prove!”</p><p>                <em>“No.”</em></p><p>“Tch. Your loss, buddy. I’d hate to be whoever’s negotiating your PR. Anyway- now I remember! I was supposed to show you the tutorial!”</p><p>                “I don’t think he needs one,” Shantae interjects. “He got through Tangle Forest just fine. I think we’re gonna go.”</p><p>                “Question,” I ask. Squid Baron perks up.</p><p>                “Ooh! I have plenty of meta-knowledge! This is what I was assigned to do! Do you want to see your progress so far? Adjust your settings? Let you know that something’s waiting for you at the <strong>IMPORT HOUSE?”</strong></p><p>                “Source of chaos. Know anything about it?”</p><p>                “Wuh… uh… hot crackers, they didn’t tell me anything about <em>that.</em> Sorry buddy can’t help you. Maybe one of the other barons knows something. Last I heard, Techno Baron and Ammo Baron teamed up again. They’re making mecha-stilts or something out in the Baron Desert.”</p><p>                “Alright. I think we need to go now. I’ll see you around, Squid Baron,” Shantae says with a wave. We proceed past perplexed ‘squid’ through forest. “By the way, my final count was seven,” she brags.</p><p>                I had four. Better than nothing.</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                One half-hour later, we approach cobbled streets. Opulent palace visible looms over people milling below. Large domed palaces glitter in midday sunlight. Ancient worked stone daunts immaculately kept courtyard below. Shadows of waving silk banners leave wistful kisses on engraved wall murals. We enter large doors at front, weaving through throngs of people. Front lock is for some reason upside down and inside out.</p><p>                Palace guards have armor like lapis tanks. Footsteps clank and reverberate through marble walls. Candelabras shake when they pass. One lifts his arm as though to hail, then leans down to sniff armpit. Catch muttering of <em>“not again.” </em>No idea where we’re going. Shantae is wandering towards back end of palace.</p><p>                Curious as to how well kingdom runs here. Little in the way of soldiery outside of bulky guardsmen. Have only seen one inhabited town so far. Traces of civilization on rotted island, too. Guardian Genie referred to other towns on ride back. No signs of civil unrest. Perhaps odd customs are why people get along so well. Debauchery and rot minimal, despite appearances. Product of conditioning or culture remains to be seen. Library may have more to offer.</p><p>                Musings are interrupted when guardsman steps from post to wave us over. “Hey Shantae, I need to talk to you.” Genie blanches. Voice drops to just above whisper.</p><p>                “Oh… er… hi, Micah.”</p><p>                “Listen, Sky came back very upset from lunch yesterday. She doesn’t want to talk to me about it. Did something happen that I should know about?”</p><p>                “We just had a bit of a fight. I was trying to get her down from ‘lecturing mom’ mode and accidentally said something I shouldn’t have. I wanted to give her some time before I tried to apologize.”</p><p>                “Don’t take it too personally. The Sultana is off to meet with the mayor of <strong>ARMOR TOWN </strong>right now. She’s got a trio of corsairs and four dozen men headed that way. Naval patrols have been disappearing all over and the boys are becoming antsy. Sky’s worried I might get sent out for reconnaissance and not come back.”</p><p>                “Boats disappearing? What do you think’s causing it?”</p><p>                “We aren’t sure yet. It could be an increase in pirate activity.”</p><p>                “That makes sense. Risky became active again not too long ago.”</p><p>                <em>“Risky Boots is out of hiding!?”</em> Shout of alarm echoes off walls like emergency siren. Attention of all guardsmen and palace-goers is on us. Echo fades. Grandiose room now graveyard silent. People huddling together. Nervous glances at a surplus. Panicked whispers flutter from awestruck patrons. “Where did you last see her?”</p><p>                “We found her at Mud Bog Island yesterday. I doubt she’s still there, but we didn’t have time to figure out where she went.”</p><p>                “Who’s ‘we?’”</p><p>                “Me and Rorschach here.” Gestures back at me with thumb. “I didn’t mean to rile everyone up. We were going to the library to see what Risky might be after.”</p><p>                “I’ll need you to come with me. The Sultana will want this news <em>immediately.</em> Your detective friend can browse the library if he wants.” Shantae turns to me and hands over library card.</p><p>                “Here, get what you need out of the library. It’s been expanded since the last time I’ve been there, so it might take a while to find what you’re looking for. Just sit tight once you’ve got something. You won’t be able to check out unless I’m there.” The pair leaves. I am alone once again among the fearful. Navigate back on route to library. Even whispers dying down. Only sounds are footsteps. Darting looks replaced by eyes glued to floor. Mood now closer to wake than posh walk-about.</p><p>                Small bearded man in green robes lingers by entryway to library. Tugs my sleeve as I pass. Decide to entertain his attention.</p><p>                “Would you like to save a record of your journey?”</p><p>                “Clarify.”</p><p>                 “I simply log all you’ve done so far onto this scroll here.”</p><p>                “Hrm. Counterintuitive method of spying. Not obligated to tell you anything.”</p><p>                “I don’t need you to tell me anything. I just need your permission to save a record.” Mayor referred to save room. Did not mention this procedure. Wonder what this is. Surveillance equipment? Magic?</p><p>                “Who will be reading this?”</p><p>                “No one except for me.”</p><p>                “What’s on the log?”</p><p>                “Exactly what I said.”</p><p>                “Ehh. Fine.” Can get better understanding of this place’s workings. He begins to scribble on the parchment. Within seconds, he is done.</p><p>                “Save complete!” View parchment for myself. Short message scrawled on it.</p><p>
  <strong>File #1</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Rorschach</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>2/16 Items Acquired</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>00:24:02</strong>
</p><p>                File. Must be some sort of dossier. Does not use my alias. Some limit to information given, then. Items. Not sure what in reference to. Squid Baron mentioned items of importance. Important to what? Heard music multiple times. Only two of my items count. Strange. Timekeeping precise, but formatting evades me. Minutes? Have been here at least a day. Purpose is unclear. Information tantalizingly vague yet with uncanny accuracy. Cannot piece together, but not most pressing issue currently.</p><p>                Enter threshold of library. Overwhelmed by scent of hashish and library paste. Walls are muted brown color. Small, round tables and chairs with pillow seats dot floor. About the size of small public offering. No system of organizing books I recognize. With no other direction, I browse the aisles. Poring over spines of thick books brings back memories of theology studies. Ancient-looking tomes with yellowed pages opened across wooden desk. Deciphering writings of Matthew for historical context, away from prying eyes and negligent peers in foster care.</p><p>                Library desk stands at back of room, but no librarian on duty. Will have to search by myself. Start browsing titles. Leather covers with stark, shiny lettering greet me. <em>Performance and Rhythm, Stupendous Belly Dancing Techniques, Steven Amgil: Low Dancing for Success. </em>Looks like dance books. Try next shelf. <em>Coping with Squid Infestation, Clearing Caves and Business, The Question of Respawning Monsters.</em> Still not what I’m looking for.</p><p>                This could take a while.</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>
  <strong>Rorschach’s Journal</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Entry building off earlier writing for the day. Currently at Sequin Land Palace Library. Organization is poor, so I have collected multiple books from shelves. Skimming through to find pertinent information. Hoping to find relation to source of chaos. Other details about this land will also be useful. Almost tempted to use Chicago citation for nostalgia’s sake.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>The Question of Respawning Monsters, pg. 87</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“…Unlike many contemporary academics, who believe dark magic is only a force for destruction, I have reason to believe that it can <em>create</em> as well. Evil creatures are not ‘naturally’ formed like humans but are rather spontaneous expressions of the land’s desire to purge creatures of light, gaining malignant intellect upon being formed. Such is why more are generated once their brethren fall, to bolster the ranks and continue their campaign.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Implications here make me uneasy. Possible existence of true divine will. References to dark and light magic again. Whether ideological rift or physical phenomena yet to be seen. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>They Who Control the Dark, Chapter 5</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Too much information to quote. Summary in order. Genies exclusively women. Cannot use dark magic. Corrupts body and mind. Turns them pallid and cruel at best. Become unhinged abominations in most dire cases. Mortals can use it without changing. Process called ‘infusion’ that warps them like genies for promise of greater power. No word on how this is done.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Abridged Record of Sequin Land Piracy</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Resembles collection of royal manuscripts. Written as crime reports. Few mentions of Risky Boots. First mate under “Pirate Master.” High profile thefts, apparently. Minor reports of gold and trade goods stolen, more prevalent are artifact thefts. Crew combined had body count in hundreds. Records go back some years. Risky older than she lets on? Not much information on her. Never put in custody. Has geographical mapping, area of Pirate Master’s old smuggling routes. North of Sequin Land Palace, where guardsman said patrols vanish. Must be related.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Query the Ancients</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                One of few mentions of “chaos” I could find as concept among many books. Subject of intense scholarly debate. Can represent state of complete natural disarray or engineered punishment of mortals. Some definitions likened to equivalent of entropy on earth. Regardless of definitions, considered a <em>bad </em>thing. Information given to me was in deliberate terms. “True” genies seem to know implications of chaos. Hallucination was genie warning. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                “Find my daughter and destroy the source of chaos.” Book also mentioned half-genies. Do not possess reality shattering power of full-blooded mothers. Product of wedding mortal men. Coincidental if she was referring to Shantae, but dancer girl’s drive cements assertions. Must be careful in pursuing subject if painful. Do not want her to shut out information. Reading provided few answers and far too many questions raised.</strong>
</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                Daylight filtering into library is fading by the time Shantae comes in. She yawns and sits across from me, rubbing eyes. “Didn’t mean to leave you in here, Rorschach. I thought the questioning would be a lot shorter. There’s like thirty different guys who all wanted me to fill out forms, then the guardsmen invited me to dinner, then I had to find a runaway cat for the captain of the guard. How are things for you?” She leans across table, propping chin in hands with elbows up.</p><p>                “Muddled. Hard to find relevant literature. Searching piecemeal through different books. Taking notes. Practical information on source of chaos is scarce. Did notice something, though, but needs confirmation.”</p><p>                “What’s that?” Flip to crude map in journal. Present sideways. Point to smuggling route markings with pen.</p><p>                “Pirate Master’s old thieving runs. Where are patrols disappearing?” Shantae looks closely at the map then gasps.</p><p>                “That… how’d you figure that out?”</p><p>                “Accidentally. Trying to find information on Risky Boots. Figure psychological profile could help stab at motivations. Ended up with record of her past activities.” Slide <em>Abridged Record of Sequin Land Piracy </em>to her. Shantae ignores book but looks at map again.</p><p>                “Wait, hang on a second.” Without asking, she takes my pen. Starts marking on my map. Fight back urge to rip journal and pen away from her. “Okay, so Micah says the patrols vanished here… and here… and… <em>holy mackerel,</em> those are getting close to Armor Town! The Sultana’s on her way there right now!”</p><p>                “Hrm. Think it was a setup?”</p><p>                “It has to be! If enough patrols go missing, then someone has to go out and investigate. Risky must have been trying to draw out someone in the high office!”</p><p>                “Sure did.”</p><p>                “Even Risky wouldn’t chance trying to catch a royal envoy on the water. She must be planning something in Armor Town.”</p><p>                “Alert guardsmen, then.”</p><p>                “Armor Town is on Paradise Island… which is two days away by boat. The Sultana left this morning. They’d be almost a day behind. Risky might be able to get away before backup arrives.”</p><p>                “We don’t use fleet, then.” Recognition flashes across the dancer’s face.</p><p>                <em>“The Flying Whirlimagig! </em>Rorschach, you’re a genius! We can get there and find Risky <em>before</em> she gets her grubby pirate mitts on the Sultana! We’ll need to move fast, though. Get back to town and get supplies, plus all the help we can get.” She hesitates and sighs.</p><p>                “And I’ll need to make an apology.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who took time to read this! I'm aware this fandom combination is... niche, but I've been having fun writing it. Most of my Watchmen inspiration comes from the original comic series, but I will occasionally grab bits and pieces I enjoy from spin-off stories. Stay tuned for the next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Lazarus Cackles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rorschach accompanies Shantae to finish some last minute errands before they shove off, but something less than menial comes up over dinner.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Shantae</span> </strong>
</p><p>                “And… you’re <em>sure </em>the Genie Tomb is clear?” Mayor Scuttlebutt leans in really close to the document like he’s trying to find some bit of fine print he forgot about. Having a dusty old document that close to his face proves to be a bad idea given the huge sneeze that immediately follows. He drops the paper and fumbles for the twirling sheet before Rorschach takes it from the air.</p><p>                “Not sure what part of ‘tomb entirely collapsed’ is unclear. Creatures unlikely to escape tons of rocks and lava. Bones snapped like twigs. Heard it. Can demonstrate,” Rorschach says too flatly.</p><p>                “No need for that,” I offer. “I was near another entrance when the place fell apart. I promise, Mayor Scuttlebutt, nothing’s getting out of there.”</p><p>                “Well… if the Guardian Genie says everything’s good, then I guess I have to deliver.” The mayor reaches under his chair, pulling out a handful of finely cut gems. “Here’s the 750 as promised. I never thought anyone would be getting it, to be honest.” Rorschach lets out an annoyed grunt before pocketing the money and folding his arms. His reaction to learning that the mayor’s office was a comfy chair and table overlooking the bay was passive-aggressive exhaling, so I guess this isn’t surprising.</p><p>                “Sorry to wake you from your nap, Mayor. We’ll be going now.” Rorschach and I depart, going downhill back towards town.</p><p>                “Thought apology would be larger priority. Went past town to come here,” He starts.</p><p>                “I’m obviously going to do it. I just needed to psych myself up a bit. You know, now that you’ve got some money, maybe we could stop by the item shop.”</p><p>                “Can browse for gear without help. Shouldn’t put off your obligations.” Just noticed the way the ink in his mask changes while he’s talking. There’s a pattern to how the black liquid forms since it always stays symmetrical. While I’m watching, the ink begins to shift. Two arches at the top of the canvas begin to narrow downwards and form together, while the blots previously covering his cheeks start to converge towards his nose. The shapes closer to his chin begin to split into a few little dots and a rippling wave pattern. He tilts his head. I guess Squid Baron had a point. It’s very nice to watch.</p><p>                “…Huh?”</p><p>                “You lost focus. Been trying to get your attention. Said don’t ignore obligations.”</p><p>                “Apologizing to Sky isn’t an obligation. It’s just… something important I need to do.”</p><p>                “That is the definition.”</p><p>                “I- look here, that’s <em>my</em> business, not yours. I can handle it myself. Why do you care anyway?”</p><p>                “Won’t work with liabilities. Small compromises indicative of larger moral failings. Flakes and cowards unfit to save anyone. Comfortable lying to self means comfortable lying to others.” I’m not a liar. Who does this guy think he is?</p><p>                “I never said I <em>wasn’t</em> going to do it. This sort of situation just requires a bit of finesse. I want to make sure I don’t say anything to screw it up.”</p><p>                “Too many confuse roundabout with sincere. If it’s important, be direct,” he advises.</p><p>                “You’re telling me you never needed time to think before you had to have a hard conversation?” He scratches his chin, looking down as the blots on his face shift. “That fight we had was after a year of things being weird between us. It’s more than just one of us being in a cranky mood.” Rorschach’s hands go to his pockets and there’s a barely noticeable slump to his shoulders. “You know the sort of argument I’m talking about.” There’s a moment of silence before I just barely catch the whisper of <em>“Daniel” </em>under his breath.</p><p>                “We’re going to Sky’s, then. She’s going to ask questions at some point, so I figure you should meet her while we’re here. Otherwise she’d probably go all mama bird and track you down herself.” There are no objections from him, so I’ll take it as a yes. Evening has officially turned to night, so everyone in Scuttle Town has lit torches out front of their houses. The flickering orange glows cast shadows across the sandy roads, which are empty save for a few rag covered vagabonds wandering around.</p><p>                At one point we pass through the center of town, where the music of the dance parlor is carrying through the market square. Hearing the cheering and tunes, Rorschach looks over at the only building flashing with multicolored light. He pulls out his book and starts scribbling in it. Even in the dark, I can tell his handwriting is awful. Everything’s too close together and he’s curving the page as he writes to make the sentences loop around on themselves. It’d almost be art, but I wonder if he’s even <em>trying </em>to make it legible.</p><p>                “What are ya writing about?”</p><p>                “Dance parlor. Open only at night?”</p><p>                “Yeah.”</p><p>                “Why?”</p><p>                “Well, everyone’s at work during the day. When else are they going to watch the performances?”</p><p>                “Hrm. Hoped this place would be above that.”</p><p>                “I… what?”</p><p>                “What kind of dances go on in there?” Weird to think that I can feel his eyes boring into me when I can’t see his face.</p><p>                “The normal kind?”</p><p>                “No strippers?” …<em>Is he serious!?</em></p><p>                “No, you- <em>weirdo,</em> they let kids in there! This isn’t Bandit Town! What’s wrong with you!?” He writes something in the journal then closes it, slipping the book into the recesses of his trench coat.</p><p>                “Good.”</p><p>                “Wait, so you wanted confirmation there <em>weren’t </em>erotic dancers here?”</p><p>                “Yes.” I’m not sure what to make of that. It’s the first time I’ve heard a guy disagree with the creeps who ask about ‘late shows.’ Nice change of pace, I will admit. I’d ask him more about it, but the <strong>HATCHERY </strong>isn’t very far from the town square. We’re already at the door before I have the chance to get an explanation out of him. I lean inside, knocking on the frame.</p><p>                “Sky? It’s Shantae. I wanted to talk.” Sky’s cleaned up the hatchery since last time I’ve been in here. The straw has been swept off the floor, it smells like bread instead of bird turds, and the walls have gotten a nice baby blue coat of paint. Rorschach just walks in with his hands in his pockets, checking under tables and looking at the pictures on the wall. I step in after him. Footsteps echo through the hatchery from the stairwell at the far end of the room. Sky comes up, narrowing her eyes at Rorschach before looking at me.</p><p>                “This is <em>not</em> a good time. And… who’s <em>that </em>guy?” A perky voice follows from the stairwell along with another set of footsteps.</p><p>                “Sky? Who’s at the door?” The familiar blonde with dyed tips and a stylish shirt with a blue cloak steps up.</p><p>                “It’s just Shantae and some guy in a trench coat. I was about to- “</p><p>                “Oh, my little girl’s friends are here! You’re more than welcome to join us for dinner, Shantae.” Sky rubs her temples, nose wrinkling as she takes a deep breath.</p><p>                <em>“</em>Mom, you can’t just <em>invite</em> people into my house.”</p><p>                “Nonsense! We have plenty of food and there’s still open seats. You’re always welcome in the nest, Shantae. Who’s your friend? Ooh, are you finally seeing someone?” That question brings everyone’s attention to Rorschach, who visibly tenses up. Sky’s previous look of exasperation becomes a glowering sneer directed at the stranger in the room. Then she focuses on me.</p><p>                “You know what, mom, I think we could use this opportunity to <em>catch up.</em> How about you two have some chicken and bean soup?” It’s like her every word is smothered in sauce, and that sauce is suspicion. My new partner-in-crime is strung tight and eyeing the exit. I step next to him and whisper.</p><p>                <em>“You were the one insisting that I do this. Now, we can talk to Sky over soup, or you can wait for her to wring the answers out of you later.” </em>He doesn’t lift his gaze from the doorway at first. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head before he turns back to the stairway and straightens his back.</p><p>                “Will stay for dinner. Can’t be too long. Both of us on tight schedule.” The answer seems to satisfy both Sky and her mother as they head downstairs, with the two of us following. Come to think of it, I’ve never been to the lower floor of the hatchery. Sky used to have her own place in <strong>OASIS TOWN,</strong> but then she moved here to be closer to everyone else. The downstairs area is comfy looking, at least. There’s a big bed at the corner of the room piled high with pillows. Across from that is a kitchen area with a woodburning stove and a few cabinets. Between those is a big dining table with wooden chairs. Draped across the walls are fancy rugs and bird feather charms dangling from nails.</p><p>                We pull out chairs and take seats around the table, waiting as Sky fills wooden bowls with soup and starts placing them down. Rorschach pulls his mask up to eat. His skin is almost as pale, dotted with little freckles and uneven red stubble. I address Sky as she sits down with her bowl.</p><p>                “So, what’s the occasion? I didn’t know your mom would be here tonight.”</p><p>                “It was <em>supposed</em> to be Micah and I’s six-month anniversary. He was going to meet my parents, but he couldn’t get off work at the palace. I think he’s supposed to be here sometime in the next hour.”</p><p>                “We were just up there! Rorschach spent a while in the library, and I filled out a ton of paperwork because Risky’s back.” Sky just shakes her head and then pauses, looking up at me.</p><p>                “Risky’s back? How do you know that?”</p><p>                “Saw her,” Rorschach explains with food in his mouth. “Mud Bog Island.” He lets his spoon sit in his dinner and raises a gauntlet-covered hand. “Looking for this. Reason to believe she intends to capture Sultana in Armor Town.”</p><p>                “Remember what Rotty was trying to tell us yesterday? Some guys in Bandit Town saw Risky headed towards there so I went to stop her before she could grab whatever she needed for her evil scheme.” Sky stops eating and knuckles go white around her spoon.</p><p>                “You were chasing an unverified lead <em>on</em> <em>a cursed island and <strong>didn’t think to tell anyone?”</strong></em></p><p>                “Uncle Mimic knew! He wouldn’t leave anyone in the dark if he thought I was in danger!”</p><p>                “And <em>this</em> is what I was talking about. You didn’t listen to a word I said yesterday, did you?”</p><p>                “I came here to apologize! I felt bad about what I said, and I wanted to let you know I <em>do</em> appreciate what you were trying to do for me.”</p><p>                “Feels like it,” Sky snarks.</p><p>                “Girls, there’s no need to argue,” Sky’s mom says while passing bread around the table. “This is supposed to be a happy night.” There’s a pregnant pause before Sky dips her bread in her soup then looks over at Rorschach.</p><p>                “Wait, aren’t you that guy Shantae ran into yesterday?”</p><p>                “Mm hm.”</p><p>                “Why are you here?”</p><p>                “Keeping her to word. Headed to Armor Town soon. Evil needs stopping.”</p><p>                “I guess you’re at least trying to keep her accountable. Heaven knows she could use a stable presence in her life.”</p><p>                “Lead by example. Not a babysitter.”</p><p>                “I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Sky interjects in a sing-song voice. “If things go well, you two might have a whole <em>flock</em> of chickadees to watch over!” His spoon clatters to the floor as he chokes on his soup, smacking his chest with the side of his fist to clear his throat.</p><p>                “Uh… we aren’t dating,” I clarify. “Just adventuring compatriots.” I guess Mrs. Sky can’t help it. She’s even worse with her daughter. Besides, I think he’s got some… issues, plus, the fact that as of a few minutes ago I have only seen half of his face.</p><p>                “Ah. Oh well,” the older woman dismisses casually. “There’s plenty of options to consider, Shantae.”</p><p>                “I’m not worried about it. I think I have time.”</p><p>                “That’s what everyone thinks until they’re looking back and wondering about the opportunities they didn’t take.”</p><p>                “No longer hungry,” rasps Rorschach. The sound of something heavy thudding on the ground comes from upstairs.</p><p>                “Just as well,” Sky comments. “I think daddy’s finally caught up.” Mrs. Sky gets up with an excited clap of her hands.</p><p>                “He must have your gift!”</p><p>                “It sounds heavy. I hope it’s not another sarcophagus.” Sky and her mom get up from the table, heading upstairs with Rorschach and I in pursuit. Sky’s dad is in the hatchery with his hunched self and outrageous mustache. The old man stands up straight to pop his back and turns around.</p><p>                “Whew. Lucky me I didn’t get into the business of professional moving. Lugging heavy relics wreaks havoc on the old vertebrae. This Micah?” he asks pointing to Rorschach.</p><p>                “No, just a friend she brought along,” Sky responds nodding her head back towards me.</p><p>                “How do you do Shantell,” he greets between tired breaths.</p><p>                “I’m alright. What’d you bring this time?”</p><p>                “Well, I wanted to get my little girl a relic. I heard there was something real special on Mud Bog Island that didn’t require leg lifting to carry. Turns out the old Genie Tomb it was supposed to be in is all collapsed. So, I hunted around and got this instead.” He steps to the side and revea-</p><p>                You’ve gotta be frigging kidding me.</p><p>                There’s a familiar fancy coffin with its shiny finish. Presumably because Sky’s dad dropped it hard, it is now rattling and thrashing and the warlock inside is letting out a barrage of muffled curses or something. Sky presses her face firmly into her palm.</p><p>                “Well… it wasn’t screaming when I picked it up.”</p><p>                “Daddy, why did you think a <em>coffin</em> was an appropriate gift?”</p><p>                “I thought it might have historical significance or some such. Had this fancy cloth on it and everything. Figured it could make a good coffee table. I can take it over to Mimic’s if you don’t want it.” This is bad. I’ll probably have to ask about why Sky’s dad was poking around in the Underworld later, but that thing needs to go. If it brought those horrible spirits into the pit, who knows what it could do up here?</p><p>                Rorschach steps past everyone, his movements rigid and shaky. He ignores the warnings Sky’s dad is giving him as he steps up to the box and pulls something off it. The little yellow button. He stares at it, the ink in his mask turning into jagged and blotchy lines. What does he think he’s doing? “Rorschach, you <em>really</em> shouldn’t be messing with that.”</p><p>                “Recognize this.”</p><p>                “Is it… some sort of artifact…?” Sky asks, scratching her head.</p><p>                “No. Knew the man inside. Friend of mine.”</p><p>                “…Huh?” Everyone’s fixated on him as he runs a gloved hand over the surface of the coffin lid.</p><p>                “Look, Rorschach, I don’t think you should be messing with that thing. It’s probably locked for a reason.” His gaze snaps up to mine. He looks on the other side of the box and pauses, seeing the obsidian lock.</p><p>                “Know something I don’t, half-genie?” Now all the attention’s on me as Rorschach starts walking closer, fists clenching at his sides.</p><p>                “I- I- I only saw it yesterday! It was in the Village of Lost Souls!” I can feel Sky’s glare, but that’s not the biggest problem here. Rorschach’s brow furrows under his mask as he gets uncomfortably close. I take a step back, but now he’s got me against the wall. He’s so close I can smell the detergent and mud in his clothes.</p><p>                “Man in coffin was The Comedian. Edward Blake. Know why he’s there?”</p><p>                “I don’t know a <em>thing</em> about him! I swear!”</p><p>                <em>“Murdered.”</em> His monotone pattern breaks as venom worms its way into his every syllable. “Thrown out of apartment window. Head driven into sternum. Innards leaking into sewer like discarded noodles in disposal. <em>Murdered</em> for having advance knowledge of plot that killed millions.” Millions. <em>Millions.</em> The roiling tide of flailing limbs and bleeding faces in the pit comes back to me. Those were all <em>people.</em> I’m struggling to keep dinner down. “Nasty business. Why I’m here now. Perpetrator’s failed attempt to silence a witness.”</p><p>                “Okay, <em>that’s enough,”</em> Sky says as she interposes between me and him. “Shantae is not a <em>murderer,</em> and if you ever,” she emphasizes, jabbing her finger into Rorschach’s chest, <em>“ever,</em> get her up against a wall again, you will have a problem with <em>me, </em>got it?” Neither of them relents as they stare each other down.</p><p>                “Noted,” is Rorschach’s curt response as he casually saunters back over to the coffin, kneeling by the lock. “Saw his funeral. Coffin was six feet under. Buried in Queens. <em>Why is he here?”</em> He leans on the box as whoever’s inside continues to shake.</p><p>                “Why don’t you ask him?” Sky’s mom suggests.</p><p>                “Oh no,” Sky says, crossing the room. “You’re not opening a screaming coffin in my hatchery. Take it outside.” I slink away from the wall and join Rorschach by the box.</p><p>                “I don’t think there would be any way to get it open without the key. A lock like that probably has a magic ward on it. Besides, it’s probably all the way back on Mud Bog Island.”  Rorschach rubs his chin then reaches into his coat. He fumbles around for a second before pulling out-</p><p>                <em>A stone key!?</em></p><p>                <em>“<strong>Outside,</strong>” </em>Sky repeats as she points to the entryway. Rorschach goes to one end of the box and starts pushing it out of the hatchery. I’m about to follow when Sky puts a hand on my shoulder and leans in. <em>“Listen Shantae, if he tries to do anything or you need help out there, you come in here and get me. Understand?”</em></p><p>                <em>“I think I can handle him.”</em></p><p>                <em>“Shantae…”</em></p><p>
  <em>                “I thought you were done trying to help me on adventures?”</em>
</p><p><em>                “Shantae, I just want to make sure you’re doing okay. I can’t drop everything and rush to your side anymore, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to make sure you’re safe. We can talk about this later. Just be careful out there.” </em>A conversation starts between Sky and her parents, but it’s now background noise as I help Rorschach push the coffin out the door.</p><p>                Back out in the cooling night air, the coffin sits halfway between the road and the hatchery. Rorschach crouches down with the key, slotting it into the obsidian lock. There was something Uncle told me about digging up stuff from ancient places. It’s hard to remember now. I think I tuned him out because I figured I’d never have to do any digging. There was something or other he mentioned about not disturbing the dead. I wished I knew what exactly it was he told me as the lid starts to creak open.</p><p>                Everything’s quiet for a second before someone huge springs up from the coffin and grabs Rorschach around the throat. I can see bits of the attacker’s face in the flickering penumbra of the torches, including stapled wounds and a nasty scar running eye to cheek. A haggard voice tears its way past his dry, split lips. <strong><em>“You’re not putting me back in the fucking box!” </em></strong>Rorschach tries to say something, but it just comes out as a wet choking sound. He’s trying to wrench the big guy’s hands away from his neck, but he’s struggling to pull them off. I lunge forward and swing my heel around in a spinning arc. Crack. My foot hits the big one’s jaw.</p><p>                It’s enough force to send both toppling. Rorschach falls into the sand, breathing hard. The other one falls back into the coffin, hitting his head on the way down. “Blake,” Rorschach wheezes out. “it’s me.” Another crack comes from the coffin before the attacker stands up to full height, looking down over the edge at his victim.</p><p>                <em>“Rorschach!?</em> Figures the first person I meet in hell is another mask. Even when you <em>die</em> the joke doesn’t end.” I wasn’t sure what sort of a person calls themself <em>The</em> Comedian, but I always figured it would be someone less scary looking. His skin is gray like a corpse, complete with the same sort of stitches and staples that Rottytops has, and his face would be handsome if it weren’t for the leering grimace. At least the black tuxedo he’s got on looks nice. He grabs Rorschach by the back of his coat and stands him up. The height difference is astounding.</p><p>                “Not in hell, Blake. Another world. Wanted to ask how you got here.”</p><p>                “Looks like you’re digging a dry well, little man. All I know is one minute, that miserable kraut Veidt breaks into my apartment and throws me out the window. Next thing I know, I’m spending god knows how long screaming and clawing and bashing my goddamn casket until my voice gives out. Think I might’ve ripped my nails out,” he says, checking his fingers. “It’s not like any of my nerves work anymore. Didn’t even feel it.”</p><p>                “Uh… how long have you been dead?” At my question, Blake looks over and gives me a smile that makes my skin crawl.</p><p>                “Would you look at that. I’m surprised, Rorschach. Didn’t figure you’d ever grow the stones to run with a lady. Especially one so immodest.” I know his type. This creep isn’t getting a rise out of me. I give him my business face and fold my arms.</p><p>                “Genie warrior with magic powers. Valuable ally. Trustworthy far as I can tell.”</p><p>                “Speaking of which,” Blake says bending down, “I felt something against my back while I was in there. I couldn’t quite reach it. With any luck, you boys had the respect to- yep! My <strong>SERVICE PISTOL.”</strong> The weapon he pulls out doesn’t look like any pistol <em>I’ve</em> ever seen. It’s boxy and gray, with a bunch of seams and screws. He pulls a rectangular box out of the grip and looks inside it. “Hmm. Don’t remember 9x19 parabellum being so, what’s the word? Yeah, purple. What’s with the black gas leaking from it?”</p><p>                “It might be dark magic. Also, you never answered my question.”</p><p>                Blake sneers and spins the gun around his finger. “Sure, I’ll get back to you on that once I learn how to figure out the passage of time from a pitch dark, soundproof box.”</p><p>                Rorschach looks down at his gauntlet. “Twenty-two days.”</p><p>                “Almost a month. God, it <em>felt</em> longer. Next time I’m dead, just throw me in a cremator. Here I was thinking Sally Jupiter was hysterical for being afraid of getting buried alive.” Blake steps out of the coffin and Rorschach hands him the little smiley badge. The Comedian pins it to his suit then reinserts the box full of magic bullets back into the gun. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to know where Adrian is, would you? I’d love to give the kid a hearty congratulations and a nine-millimeter handshake.”</p><p>                Rorschach shakes his head, shutting the casket. “Not around here. Probably still on earth.”</p><p>                “Great, I’m back from the dead and I can’t even put a cap in the little puke who’s responsible for getting me sent to a cemetery.” Blake tucks the pistol into his suit jacket and turns to me. “So, what do you do around here for fun, sweet cheeks?”</p><p>                “Right now, we’re trying to stop an evil pirate from taking over the world.”</p><p>                Blake shakes his head. “Bah. Pirates. Never understood the craze around them. It’s those cheap pulp books and stupid comics. Most you ever see in real life are broke insurgents smuggling AKs and underage whores.”</p><p>                “Risky mostly does raiding. She’s got a whole army of Tinkerbats who loot and burn and steal everything that isn’t nailed down. Then she usually hunts for a bunch of old relics that help her power some doomsday weapon so she can rule over Sequin Land.” The Comedian narrows his eyes at my explanation then looks to Rorschach to confirmation, who nods his assent.</p><p>                “So, it’s one insane harbinger of doom to another.” He wrinkles his nose then looks back at Rorschach, eyes wide. <em>“Wait,</em> you <em>heard</em> me say that Veidt- “</p><p>                “Yes.”</p><p>                “Don’t tell me you were- “</p><p>                “Wasn’t in on it. Was investigating your death. Only one who cared. Couldn’t stop Adrian’s plan. Saw aftermath on news. The others believed Veidt’s lunacy. Jon sent me here to stop spread of news. Doesn’t know I published journal in New Frontiersman.”</p><p>                “Oh, for the love of- <em>The New Frontiersman?</em> Why not send it to the National Enquirer, while you’re at it? Half of New York dies, and the only person who will tell what happened sends it to a wingnut rag that’s going to spin it into a Zionist conspiracy. Glad your major wasn’t <em>journalism</em>.”</p><p>                “Only source I trust to not edit story.”</p><p>                “Doesn’t matter if <em>no one reads the thing!”</em></p><p>                “Truth will spread. Sure of it.”</p><p>                Blake runs his hands down his face, staring up into the sky. “So, what’s this about pirates and bats?”</p><p>                I take a glance over my shoulder at the entrance of the hatchery. “How about you two head up to the item shop to get some supplies? Rorschach can fill you in on the way. I gotta do something first.”</p><p>                “Hrm. Fine. Risky Boots. Claims herself pirate queen. Has forces closer to paramilitary…” Their voices trail off as they start heading for the town square. I turn and head back into the hatchery. Sky is immediately to my right, leaning against the doorway.</p><p>                She stands up straight, rubbing her arm. “I heard your conversation out there. Shantae, you don’t need to do this.”</p><p>                “Sky, this is my job. I know it’s not easy for you to watch me go out and risk my life, but I have to.”</p><p>                “It’s not just that. I don’t trust those two.” That, I can understand. Rorschach has, I dunno, identity issues or something. And the Comedian needs to keep his eyes to himself. It’s weird to think those two are friends. I can tell they come from the same place, but for the life of me, I can’t imagine why anyone would put up with Edward Blake, condescending as he is.  </p><p>                “Yeah, I know. I think something <em>big</em> is going on though. I might need all the help I can get. There was something awful on Mud Bog Island.”</p><p>                “Was it the shambling people covered in blood with torn clothes?”</p><p>                “…How’d you know about that?”</p><p>                “Daddy was on the island earlier today. Apparently, they were <em>everywhere.</em> He says that all of the spirits are starting to leave the Underworld.”</p><p>                “That’s a problem. All those people apparently showed up at the same time as Blake’s casket. I think it had something to do with that event Rorschach keeps referring to. If Risky was able to collapse the Underworld, then she must have something awful at her disposal.”</p><p>                “How do you know Risky was behind it?”</p><p>                “It’s been a day from the time she visited the island to the Underworld falling apart. It can’t be a coincidence.”</p><p>                “I don’t want you getting in over your head.”</p><p>                I grip Sky’s shoulders, looking her dead in the eyes. “Do you trust <em>me?”</em></p><p>                She sighs and leans in, giving me a big, warm hug. “Yes. I do. Just <em>promise</em> me when you’re done with all of this that you’ll find something to do that isn’t sulking in the lighthouse or chasing pirates?”</p><p>                “I promise. Have a good night and tell Micah I said hi.”</p><p>                With that, I wave Sky goodbye and head out into the street. There’s so much going on and so little makes sense. What’s New York? Why’s Edward Blake here? What’s with all the dark magic? What is Risky gaining by letting all the souls out of the Underworld?</p><p>                I wish mom were here. I think she’d be able to figure out what’s going on. Right now, it’s like staring into a kaleidoscope where the shapes want to punch you in the retina. The barons don’t seem to be in on this yet. Trying to destroy the Underworld seems like a thing the Pirate Master might try, but Risky wouldn’t dig him back up. I don’t think she’d trust the <strong>EMPRESS SIREN </strong>again. I’m trying to rack my brain for an answer, but everything’s coming up blank. Am I so desperate that I’m trying to figure out a way for <strong>HOLLY LINGERBEAN </strong>to somehow be connected to this?</p><p>                Aw butts, she just manifested somewhere.</p><p>                Now that I’m outside the item shop, I can hear Blake talking to someone inside. “So, you mean to tell me that I gotta eat <em>brains</em> to keep from turning into a rabid animal?”</p><p>                “Well, you don’t <em>have </em>to. Coffee exists. Besides, zombies are usually green. I don’t think you’re a zombie. If I had to guess, you’re a <strong>GHOUL.”</strong> Rottytops. He’s talking to Rottytops. She’s not usually in town this late. What gives? I step inside to see what’s going on. Rorschach is digging through a box of old spells at the counter. The Comedian is browsing a weapon rack while Rottytops leans against the wall next to him.</p><p>                Blake pulls down a <strong>FALCHION,</strong> feeling up the blade. “So, what’s the difference?” he asks.</p><p>                “Well, for starters, you aren’t in danger of going feral if you’re short on food. Plus, if you eat living flesh, you absorb its essence and start becoming more alive or something.”</p><p>                “I can stop being a walking cadaver if I eat raw meat?”</p><p>                “I think? My brother was telling me if ghouls go too long without feasting their bits start to fall off.” I’m not sure I want to stay tuned for <em>that </em>discussion. I go up to the counter with Rorschach. The item store guy is asleep standing up, but I don’t think anyone else has noticed. I look into the box full of old scrolls and books.</p><p>                “Did you find anything interesting?” Rorschach pauses in his search, though just for a second.</p><p>                “Definitely getting <strong>SHADOW CHAIN. </strong>Works as grappling hook. Nice to have. <strong>THUNDER FISTS</strong> also of interest. Possess stunning properties. Would get more but need to purchase Blake’s equipment too.”</p><p>                I lean on the counter, gesturing back to the undead duo. “When did Rottytops show up?”</p><p>                “Started making conversation on way here. Recognized her from your table. Got Comedian interested in talking about life after death.” He flips the Thunder Fists scroll over, checking the price.</p><p>                “I heard. Listened as far as ‘bits falling off’ and decided- EEK!” Someone slaps me on the butt, hard. I turn around and Rotty grabs me by the waist and throws me over her shoulder. Rorschach edges away, trying to focus on the box.</p><p>                “Heya toots! Did you think I didn’t see you coming in?”</p><p>                “Ooh, <em>Rottytops!</em> You can’t just do that!”</p><p>                She snickers and shakes me around a little. “I <em>can </em>and I <em>did!</em> You walked through without saying hi to me!”</p><p>                “I was going to! You looked busy.”</p><p>                Rotty scoffs. “Busy <em>nothing,</em> genie girl! That ghoul in a monkey suit was more interested in the weapon rack. Besides, I heard from these boys you’re going on an adventure, and I want in.”</p><p>                “You can come along with us. Every bit of help counts.”</p><p>                “I will argue night and day until you- wait, I can go?”</p><p>                I’d hoped Rotty had listened last time we talked about this. I guess not. “…Yeah? I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”</p><p>                “You aren’t worried I’ll get in the way?”</p><p>                “Absolutely not. Rottytops, you need stop being so hard on yourself. You don’t need to prove anything to me. We don’t need to have another ‘Fillin the Blank’ situation.”</p><p>                She sniffles and lets out a little squeak. “Oh, Snack Cakes! You’ve made me the happiest zombie in the whole wide world!”</p><p>                “Glad to hear it. Can you let me down now?”</p><p>                “Oh, right. Sorry.” Rotty puts me back on my feet. Blake then pushes us both out of the way.</p><p>                “If you two are done with your little moment, I have equipment to pay for. Rorschach, you done over there?”</p><p>                “Yes,” the masked man replies tersely. Blake then slams his fist on the counter, waking up the shop guy, who frantically straightens up.</p><p>                “Is this all you need?” I think I’m good on supplies for now. Now we’ve got a full party and a plan to stop Risky before she carries out the next phase of hers. All things considered, I think things are looking up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I live... again! Not especially spooky, but the undead go with the season, right? Happy Halloween, everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Thou Mourn at the Last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A solid lead turns into a bloody mess as the group investigates Armor Town.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">The Comedian</span>
  </strong>
</p><p>                Thought I’d be done with tight spaces for a while after spending a few weeks trapped in my own coffin. Methinks <em>someone</em> upstairs is laughing at me, 'cause now I’m stuck in a tiny little whirlybird that makes an overstuffed Huey feel like a damn limo. It ain’t like the old days, where my shoulders were getting crushed by the overpacked troops next to me. There's no crick in my neck after I spent three days ducking under doors in a nuclear submarine. There’s no sense of touch. There’s the vague idea that I’m sitting on <em>something,</em> but there’s no feedback. Not like the genie fidgeting up front ‘cause she can’t sleep on a leather seat. Hating this stupid tiny transport is all in my head.</p><p>                The zombie girl is humming to herself, both hands on the control stick of the vessel. Not a care in the world as she keeps her fingers on the throttle, bouncing her legs while staring out into the dark. Rorschach, the nutcase he is, has opted not to sleep tonight. He lifted a cup of coffee from the zombie and now he’s hunched over his little book, trying to keep the pages hidden like a shy teenage girl. Neither of them has anything to say. I never wanted to be the guy who filled the air with pointless chatter, but man, I get it now. Words, words, words, to fill the empty space where thoughts of meeting oblivion should be. I saw it and got back up. Why’s the silence so uncomfortable?</p><p>                Might as well give the other mask in here some shit. “Writing something engrossing there, Anne Frank?” I ask while bumping Rorschach on the shoulder. He pulls into himself and flattens the book against his belly, looking up at me.</p><p>                “Recording evidence. Sorting out what I’ve seen.”</p><p>                “Evidence, huh? You find a crime scene I didn’t?”</p><p>                Rorschach shakes his head. “New world. Things that defy laws of physics. Like something out of storybook. Need to have proof.”</p><p>                “Who are ya trying to convince? Is scribbling in that diary gonna prove anything?” He lays the book across his lap and goes back to writing. </p><p>                “Have more than writing. Gauntlet stuck to hand works too.”</p><p>                “I’m surprised you’ve caught on so fast to… all this. None of this bothers ya? Genies? Dead people walking around? Ancient evil glove fusing to your skin?” Sometimes a man needs to get a screwball’s opinion before coming to a good conclusion.</p><p>                “Indulgences less widespread. Monsters delineated clearly. Wheat is separated from chaff by people who care. Look around. Took less than two days to get enough help for task. Much better than back home.” Guess that figures. The point bounces off like a BB at a brick wall.</p><p>                “If I didn’t know better, that’d almost sound like you <em>want</em> to be here.” Rorschach grunts and leans into his book again. “You’ve only seen the surface, kid. Your attitude’s gonna change when you dig a bit deeper.”</p><p>                “Will consider your words, Blake. Still think you’re wrong.” He’s stubborn, but I know he listens to me, at least.</p><p>                I look out the window for a while. God, why am I so hungry? Nothing else in there is working. The genie gave me a <strong>CAN OF TUNA</strong> earlier. The fish sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a lump of polystyrene foam. All things considered; it’s making the gnawing sensation in my gut harder to ignore. I don’t feel nauseous, so it’s not coming up anytime soon. It… itches. And it’s spreading. A dull razor is dragging across the surface of my brain, and I can’t stop it. Itching. <em>Itching. Hungry</em>. Looking between Rorschach and Shantae is making it worse. The sensation is working its way down my spine. I’ve had less distracting migraines.</p><p>                The zombie. Maybe she can help me? “Hey Stitches,” I call up front.</p><p>                Rottytops startles and looks back, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Whuzzat?”</p><p>                “Move the genie back here. I’d like to talk.”</p><p>                “Can’t ya do it from back there? I can hear you fine.”</p><p>                I click my tongue. “More a conversation for dead people.”</p><p>                “<em>Oooh</em>, secrets!” she says with an impish smile. “Sure. You’ll have to squeeze a bit.” I can see Rorschach trying to be sneaky about giving me the eye. With a bit of finagling, I pass the unconscious dancer into the back seat and get up into the front. The engine hums loud enough to keep a whispered conversation private. At least, I hope. She leans in close and puts a hand up to the side of her mouth to whisper. “So, what’s chewing your fat, beefy?”</p><p>                “The hunger.”</p><p>                “Ah. The coffee not working?”</p><p>                “Not even a little.”</p><p>                “Did the tuna do anything?”</p><p>                “It made it worse. I’d be better off if I had a hernia right now.”</p><p>                She scratches the back of her head. “Yeah. I’ve heard that ghoul hunger is tricky. When’s the last time you ate?”</p><p>                It was the night I got killed. Chicken penne and salad followed by a fifth of bourbon. Didn’t even bother to wash my dishes. I was about to finish the bottle when Veidt kicked down my door. “Twenty-three days now.”</p><p>                Stitches gives me a whistle. “I’m surprised you held out that long.”</p><p>                “Eating wasn’t the first thing on my mind.”</p><p>                “Why not? Wait, scratch that. I forgot how stressful <strong>THE AWAKENING</strong> is.”</p><p>                “That what they call having to claw your way out from six feet under?”</p><p>                She nods. “Yep. I had to do that <em>literally.</em> A six by three block of dirt doesn’t seem like much until you’re tearing muscles trying to dig through it. Then you get out of the ground and the only thing you’re thinking about is brains. It must have been a week before my brothers found me. I might have eaten at least a dozen brains before… your face tells me this isn’t helping.”</p><p>                “I’m not interested in hearing about a sucking brain buffet, I’m asking if there’s any way to get my mind off the fact that those two in the back are looking awfully <em>edible.”</em></p><p>                “Listen guy, you’re the first ghoul I’ve seen in person. This is new to me too. Just… try to hold on until we get to Armor Town. Maybe you can buy a pig from someone then dig in. I dunno. You could think about… uh… twenty questions?”</p><p>                Does she think I’m a twitchy kindergartner? I’d chew her out, but I’m at a loss for another way to keep my head clear. It’s like taking an M113 into Saigon all over again. “Oh, for chrissakes, sure. Is it an object?”</p><p>-------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>                The sun is almost at its highest point by the time our ride gets close to Armor Town. Lucky us Rorschach woke the genie up early or Rottytops would have overshot it. It’s up high in the mountains and we can see the metal wall from up above. Shantae pushes her way up to the front and squints out the window.</p><p>                “I don’t think there’s anywhere in town we’ll be able to land this. We'll have to park it down a bit.” Rottytops sidles in close to the dancer and rubs her arm.</p><p>                “Are you <em>sure</em> you don’t trust me to land it?” The purple haired girl’s up on the dashboard as she points out a spot.</p><p>                “Right there should work.”</p><p>                The zombie groans and pushes down on the control stick. "You're killing my fun here, Snack Cakes." She circles the whirlybird and brings it down near a rocky platform. The rig shakes as we have an uneven landing, then Stitches turns off the engine. Everyone files out.</p><p>                The view over the side of the mountain is nice. There're palm trees swaying down there, and moss covers the rocks. Flowers of varying colors are stuck between cracks in the rock face, and creeping vines are present up the mountain. We can't see the town from down here, but it isn't too far from the landing zone. I do an equipment check. Sword and service pistol are still where I've put them.</p><p>                "This Armor Town," I start, "what kind of hardware do they got?" Shantae's staring like I've sprouted a second head.</p><p>                "Huh? Like… hammers?"</p><p>                "Not that kind. <em>Military</em> hardware. Armaments. Weaponry an' body armor. If some pirate's readying up for a siege, what kinda support should we be expecting?"</p><p>                "Oh. If I'm remembering right, leather with steel plating, scimitars, and pistols as of a few months ago."</p><p>                "Doesn't this place have a Guardian Genie?" Rottytops asks as we begin our hike upwards.</p><p>                The dancer's ponytail bounces as she nods. "Yep! Zapple probably already knows that the Sultana's on the way."</p><p>                "Zapple…?" Rorschach questions.</p><p>                "Guardian Genie of Armor Town," Shantae explains. "She's got electricity magic."</p><p>                Ain't that on the nose. "I remember reading some new science psych bullshit about names influencing jobs. She get named that 'cause she had lightning powers as a baby, or's that just a happy coincidence?"</p><p>                "I don't know. Seems kinda rude to ask," the genie says with reluctance.</p><p>                Rorschach looks up, cupping a hand by his ear. "Screaming. Coming from up the mountain." We all look up and I strain my ears. I'll be damned. The mountain's making it echo a bit, but that's the sound of panic coming down from town. "We should hurry."</p><p>                What should have been a hike instead turns into a run as we bolt for the path up. Without breathing or muscle fatigue to worry about, I'm able to do a dead sprint like old times. "I don't get it," Shantae gets out between panting breaths. "Why would Risky attack now? The Sultana isn't even here yet! I thought we had more time!"</p><p>                "In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity,'" Rorschach offers. "Could be a distraction. Send crew in first. Might have anticipated us showing up. Maybe intends to capture Sultana while we're distracted." The screams are getting louder now. Gunfire intersperses with the clangor of steel and inhuman roaring.</p><p>                "…Or not," Rottytops says as the… <em>things</em> come shuffling out of Armor Town's gate. They sorta look like people. Clothes are a lot different than anything around here. Looks like stuff from back home. That's about all that could be called normal. Their arms are overly long and tipped with dripping black claws. Their jaws hang at their chests, and their teeth are gnarled points. They limp towards us, snarling and gurgling.</p><p>                Out comes the service pistol. "Hit the ground, ya freaks!" I squeeze off a round. The closest one jerks and falls as its back explodes outward in a cloud of magic purple mist and rotten entrails. Fuck me, I've never seen nine-millimeter rounds do that! Those Kennedy investigators can eat their hearts out, <em>that</em> was a magic bullet. The rest speed up. Everyone finally realizes they should probably be doing something.</p><p>                Rorschach lunges forward and his uppercut sends a dead thing into the soil spitting enamel. The genie throws a ball of fire from her fingertips as the smell of a burning charnel house flares up. And Rottytops, well, <em>rips off her own leg</em> then uses it to score a home run with a monster's head. I'm keeping both hands on my gun and putting shots down range. That's a ribcage turned to mincemeat. Skull explodes like an overripe melon. Another modern art piece painting the dirt with spilled guts.</p><p>                After the skirmish, there's a slight lull where everyone's processing what just happened. I check my clip. Still full. At least ammo management's not a worry. "This is worse than I could've imagined!" the genie exclaims as she looks at the carnage just past the gate. "Okay, new plan! Rorschach and I are going to try to find Zapple and evacuate people from town. Rotty, Blake, take down as many of these things as you can and help the guards!"</p><p>                "Anything for you, sugar brains," says Stitches.</p><p>                "Been too long since I've had target practice." I pull the falchion from my jacket. Grazing the monsters makes 'em pop like overripe balloons. Might as well have an edge if they get too close. Rorschach and the genie take off past the gate.</p><p>                "I can guarantee that Snack Cakes is going to hurl at least once before we meet up again."</p><p>                "What makes ya say that?"</p><p>                "Well, she doesn't normally see the… <em>messy</em> part of fights involving humans. Risky usually just takes hostages or goes for loot. Not usually apt to leave corpses behind."</p><p>                "We'll say it's a wakeup call, then." Into the gates we go. Guardsmen and women in red metal beaver hats are desperately trying and failing to hold back the cadaverous tide. The claws of the shambling dead cut like machetes. The armor stops it, but any exposed skin gets torn like paper and opened arteries spill like tipped wine bottles. The itch is back.</p><p>                Gunfire at least distracts from it as I start putting more corpses to rest.</p><p>                The attention of the wasting mob has been taken off the living, but shambling revenants ain't the only ones in on the action. <strong>SCARECROWS</strong> belch magic blasts at fleeing civvies. Unitard clad bat-women pulp the bones of terrified guards with oversized flails. There're even some big blue armored jackoffs swinging claymores around.</p><p>                Stitches wastes no time jumping into the fray, picking up a scimitar and cutting loose. One of the <strong>BATGALS</strong> touches down next to me, trying to take my head off with a spiked ball. I duck, but she pulls it towards her and gets me on the backswing. I roll with it and land sitting down, raising my gun. <strong><em>Bang bang bang.</em></strong> Nice shot grouping right through the heart. The bitch screams as her skin turns grey and she crumbles into pebbles. Standing up, I realize I'm swaying a whole lot. A quick look down reveals that my spine's sticking through my belly and my torso's wobbling like a cheap roulette wheel. "Are you shittin' me!?"</p><p>                "Ya get used to it!" Rottytops calls back as one of the revenants tears her arm off with a well-placed swipe. The zombie responds by removing everything shoulders up with a swipe of the scimitar. She then follows through taking off two heads in the same swipe. One of the blue <strong>KNIGHTS</strong> rushes up in a clumsy jog, bowling Rottytops to the ground. The 1911 makes a few dents in the armored monster, but mostly just staggers it. God, I thought they stopped using plate <em>because</em> of guns. What's that armor made of?</p><p>                "C'mere, you big blue bastard! I'll show you what a real sword fight's like!" The knight takes the bait, moving up to duel. I keep shots on him all the way, softening him up until he closes. He thrusts forward with his sword. It punches right through my chest. I can hear a few ribs break as it slides in. No blood, though. The mortician saw to that. I ram the falchion through the gap in his faceplate. There's a wet <em>thunk</em> as it slides out the other side of his head, covered in violet goo. He goes limp and falls to the ground, sliding off the blade. Gems pour from the seams in his armor like a broken slot machine. That claymore's still stuck in my fucking heart.</p><p>                The gunfire. The screams. <em>The mayhem</em>. Just like home. Monsters are getting put down in a hail of lead and black powder smoke. The guardsmen are finally rallying. Took 'em long enough. Battered troopers approach us after the street is clear. The one who steps forward to address us is a bearded man with a shield and a red cloak. "Thanks for the assist. We might have been goners if you two hadn't showed up!"</p><p>                Rottytops puts the scimitar into a belt loop and reattaches her arm. "Don't sweat it. Say, how'd all these things get past the wall?" The guardsman gives his explanation while I'm pulling a sword from my torso.</p><p>                "They didn't. The monsters just formed. Their bones appeared then everything else wrapped around it. It's freaky stuff. Never seen anything like it."</p><p>                That sounds familiar. I remember hearing about something similar from a contact in the CIA. I'll have to ask about it later. For now, the sounds of fighting are still going strong a street over. "Where's your Guardian Genie?"</p><p>                The guardsman loads a paper shot cartridge into his flintlock. "Escorting people out of town. It's been hard trying to communicate. The <strong>ARMOR BARON</strong> is besieged by some <strong>GUNNER IN BLACK ARMOR,</strong> so we can't get commands."</p><p>                "Do you think you could organize if we took out the gunner?"</p><p>                "I'd be careful. That thing is tough. Plus… uh… you okay there?" The guardsman is staring at the vertebrae poking through my gut.</p><p>                "Eh, ghouls are tough. He'll be fine," the zombie dismisses. The guards' eyes turn into dinner plates. Then they start backing up.</p><p>                "I-I… just remembered… er…" They're all backing up now, all guns trained on me. Their resolve drops into their quaking boots. A guardswoman runs and breaks rank screaming <strong><em>"He's gonna eat us!"</em></strong> The rest of the troopers follow suit. If these are their trained professionals, I got no hope for this place being in one piece by the end of the day.</p><p>                "…What's got them shitting their britches?"</p><p>                Rottytops gives an awkward laugh. "I forgot that most people think ghouls are invincible murder machines who dine on the living. Don't sweat it. That attitude will change once we take down the gunner." She leads the way down a side street. I gotta keep a hand on the wall so that I don't wobble too much. Lucky my nerves don't work, or I wouldn't be up and around right now. Now I've got to wondering why I'm not paralyzed from the waist down.</p><p>                "Hey, Stitches, I think being a broken gyroscope is gonna be a liability in a fight. Any way I can fix this?"</p><p>                "Push it back in. I don't think there's much you can do about that right now."</p><p> </p><p>                "What about one of those healing potions?"</p><p>"Bad idea. Undead disintegrate when they touch anything like that. I'd also recommend staying out of the bath houses." That sucks. I grab the vertebrae and wrench them back through the hole. I can hear it scraping against the upper part of my spine, but it doesn't attach. I'll just have to deal with this for a while.</p><p>                We come off the street and stop in front of a two-story building made from boulders and metal. From the top story, a tall and thin man peeks from behind the doorway. Then he fires a wide, inaccurate shot down at the assailant on the street before ducking back in. Guy in the street returns two shots in short order. Black armor is right, but not in the way they think. That's goddamn riot gear, ballistic shield and all. No wonder they couldn't make a dent in it. Swords and pre-Renaissance bullets ain't gonna help against that.</p><p>                The gunner glances over his shoulder and turns to us. Now I can see why he was able to fire twice. Our riot guy's packing a <strong>SAWED-OFF SHOTGUN</strong> with a pistol grip. He loads his shells and laughs from behind the riot helmet. "Begone, deathless ones! All will submit to the master's psychic rage!"</p><p>                "Get down!" I yell to Rottytops as we dive for cover.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Riot Disciple</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Possessed Peace Officer</em>
</p><p>                I lean out to take a few potshots at this buckshot spewing bastard. Even with magic bullets, level three ballistic protection wins out. The shield cracks with each shot, but nothing penetrates. He returns fire. A wad of buckshot turns my left bicep into shredded brisket. The zombie stands up and catches a double aught greeting in the ticker, landing hard on her back.</p><p>                "Ow! I liked this shirt you jerk!" She sits up, revealing the constellation of pellets that have torn through her chest. "Gah, that <em>stings."</em></p><p>                "I might be able to shoot through the outer layer of armor, but he's probably got bullet resistant lining underneath. We'll have to chip it off, close, then stab him."</p><p>                "What about that shield?" Rottytops flinches as another cluster of shot chips the stone barrier near her arm.</p><p>                "We'll flank 'im. Keep him distracted from the front, and I can put some lead into his back. He should be reloading about –" Buckshot skims the ground close to my shin. "-Now!" We both vault over the low stone barrier and rush the riot gunner. Rottytops gets on him, wrenching his gun arm off to the side and driving her knee into his gut. He doesn't stagger, but it gets his attention. I get around to the other side and pop some shots into his back. The plating cracks on the first shot and fragments on the second. He turns half around to block the rest of my barrage with his shield.</p><p>                Stitches flips up his visor and headbutts him in the face. The riot gunner's nose shatters and he stumbles back, blood streaming down his face. So, this one's alive. He responds by swinging his shield around to knock the zombie on her ass. He's about to blow her head off when I grab his neck from behind, jerking him back so that he fires into the air. Then he wedges his shield between my arm and himself and throws me to the ground. There's another bang as he blows a hole in my calf, stripping it down to dry bone. Despite this, there's an opportunity. I fire a shot into his groin. It doesn't penetrate, but the way he retches and drops his boomstick tells me he felt that.</p><p>                The point of a sword comes through the front of his armor. The riot gunner falls to his knees, screaming. Rottytops starts dragging the scimitar across to keep him down. I reach over for the shotgun. While he's trying to get the zombie off his back, I grab a shell from his belt and slot it into a barrel. Then, I kick up to open the riot visor. There's a rewarding flash of terror in his face before I ventilate everything chin down in a cloud of buckshot and red mist. He goes down gurgling through a non-existent mouth.</p><p>                There's a pause before he starts <em>exploding</em>. A bunch of little bursts pulp his armor and send bits and pieces of him flying. By the end of it, he's a mushy red pile with bones sticking out. Looks like his <strong>AMMO</strong> survived. It's mine now. "Was this guy stuffed with nitro? Why'd he blow up!?"</p><p>                "That's just what bosses do," Rottytops says with a shrug <em>like that explains anything</em>. "Whoa, dang, he got you good." It's a miracle I'm still able to move. I got a hole in my sternum, my torso won't stay upright, my upper arm looks like it's been through a cheese grater, and I can see my shattered leg bone. Even modern medicine wouldn't do much for injuries like this. It's real hard to think of a solution when that gory mass is making me… hungry…</p><p>                <em>'If you eat living flesh, you absorb its essence and become more alive or something.'</em></p><p>                Those words are echoing in my head. I don't think a pig was gonna help me much anyhow. Is this what I am now? This how I gotta survive? Not like I never seen it happen. When war breaks out, anything goes. I used to laugh at the idea of some dumb bastard having his corpse passed around the table like a smelly family dinner. Was all a part of the joke, y'know? It's becoming less of a gut-buster the more I consider it. That's the problem, thinking like this.</p><p>                Breaking down a punchline always kills the humor.</p><p>                "Uhh… Blake? You gonna get up?"</p><p>                "I need to eat." I think that's my voice. Sounds so distant.</p><p>                "Might as well. Not like he's gonna be using any of that." There's a little part of me saying not to do it. Don't remember the last time I heeded its advice. The itch throbbing around my injuries is enough to convince me. I close my eyes and start chowing down on a dead guy. Looking at what I'm eating would make this less messy, but I'm beyond caring at this point. As the meat slides down, something changes. I can taste it now. It's all iron and raw veal. I'm aware of something wet and warm covering my hands. There's a sound like a garden hose getting switched off as something drips down my chest. Something pinches the base of my spine. I can feel the warm breeze on my face. The hunger is gone. I open my eyes.</p><p>                My skin's no longer grey. The injuries are now living skin covered in fresh blood. My suit's getting stiff while it dries. Stitches has got the guy's skull in her hands and is sucking down his grey matter like a bowl of Jell-O. She tosses the bone aside and looks at me.</p><p>                "What? Am I not allowed to cheat on my diet occasionally?" The holes in her chest start sealing up as crumpled steel pellets are forced out of the wounds and onto the ground.</p><p>                "I didn't say jack." That crop top's showing a lot more cleavage than it used to. It's held together by a thread.</p><p>                The Armor Baron comes out of the doorway, gun leveled. "Don't come any closer! You monsters aren't going to eat me!" We both look up at him. "I'm warning you!"</p><p>                "Shut up. We're not here to eat you, bean pole. You're supposed to be leading troops out here." God, I hate his voice.</p><p>                "You can't talk to me like that, I'm the Armor Baron!"</p><p>                Rottytops folds her arms across her chest. "We know."</p><p>                "Wait a minute, aren't you that zombie genie who came to Arena Town last year?"</p><p>                "I'm not actually a genie. I just hid away in my friend's luggage and pretended to be one."</p><p>                "That was… Shantae, right? Yeah, you and she were the only ones not from Paradise Island."</p><p>                "Yep. She's here now."</p><p>                "Wait, she is? She's not here to sue for emotional damages, is she?"</p><p>                "No. Shantae's looking for Zapple and beating up monsters."</p><p>                "Ah. Excellent." Armor Baron clears his throat and jumps to the ground. "Well, if you aren't here to maim or litigate me, then I must be off to command." He runs down the street and turns a corner out of sight.</p><p>                "That blockhead wouldn't last a day on a real battlefield. Five bucks says he gets chewed up 'fore he gets to the other side of town."</p><p>                "Why would I want five rabbits?" Stitches says with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>                "Rabbits? Where'd you get that idea?"</p><p>                "Bucks? Y'know, male rabbits?" Shoulda said five gems. Ah well, too late to correct course.</p><p>                "Know what, forget it. I think we oughta rendezvous with Rorschach and Shantae."</p><p>                "I should pick a cloak off one of the dead people. I think if I move too much, my goods are gonna spill out my shirt." Down the road we go. Shantae told me that the shambling creatures started showing up not long after my coffin. If Rorschach's theory is correct, those are the people that died from Veidt's attack. I know for a fact they ain't got riot armor here, so maybe the gunner came in with the dead. In that case, why's he still alive? Where'd he come from? What was that business about 'psychic rage?'</p><p>                The streets are gummed up with monsters, so I'll have to think about it later. The zombie manages to cover up before we get into another brawl. It isn't much of a fight when a massive wave of electricity surges through the ground and fries our land bound foes. From out of the sky, Rorschach comes down and pile drives a bat girl, who turns to stone a second after they touch down. Behind that is a bikini clad girl with pointy ears and black hair riding a jewelry wearing elephant. She jumps off the elephant's back and lands in a kneel, sparking like a microwave filled with forks. The elephant morphs into Shantae. Rorschach <em>did</em> mention that she could shapeshift.</p><p>                "You don't all have to thank me at once," the new girl brags with a bow.</p><p>                "You're Zapple?"</p><p>                She stands up. "Yeah. Shantae said you're the Comedian." Zapple tenses up once she gets a good look at me. Must be the gore. "Rottytops!" she says too quickly. "Long time no see!"</p><p>                "Heya lady! How've ya been?" The electric genie looks around at the blood-stained buildings and stiffs lining the streets. She swallows hard. A pained smile stretches across her face.</p><p>                "You know. Had better days. I'm glad you all showed up. The guards are finally driving back the monsters."</p><p>                Shantae puts an arm around Zapple's shoulder. "It's okay. You did the best with what you had. I'm honestly surprised none of the other Guardian Genies showed up to help."</p><p>                "They were all too far." Zapple's voice breaks then she sniffles and shakes it off. "I might have come back to worse. Harmony would have been close enough, but she left this morning. The Guardian Genie of Bandit Town came by and said she needed help out there. What rotten timing."</p><p>                "I didn't know Bandit Town even <em>had</em> a Guardian Genie," Rottytops muses.</p><p>                Shantae groans and puts her face in her hands. "They don't. That was Risky."</p><p>                "Know this how?" Rorschach rasps.</p><p>                "She's used that disguise on me before." Shantae sighs and starts pacing back and forth. "Why does she want Harmony? None of this is adding up. Risky pulls away help from Paradise Island <em>just</em> before monsters attack? But none of it's her crew. There's not even any looting. It's just killing. What's she getting from this?"</p><p>                "If it helps at all, Stitches and I ended up fighting a guy in full riot gear. That's where I got this bad boy," I offer, pulling out the shotgun. "He mentioned some kinda master with psychic powers. Ringing any bells?"</p><p>                Shantae runs her fingers through her hair, eyes shut tight. <strong>"HYPNO BARON?</strong> But this isn't the sort of thing he'd do. His bag is more marketing schemes and petty theft."</p><p>                Something's working behind Rorschach's mask. "Comedian shows up in Underworld. Then victims of New York attack. Psychic wave cause of deaths. Monsters with faces of dead New Yorkers accompany assault on Armor Town. Disciple with modern armor. Will of psychic master. Noticing pattern?"</p><p>                "All this shit's tying back to… Ozymandias."</p><p>                "Not coincidence. Used psychic's brain for monster. Must have some interest in this place. What is it?"</p><p>                "You guys are losing me," Zapple says.</p><p>                "Wait, wasn't Ozy-whatever-us the guy that killed you?" Shantae asks me.</p><p>                "Yeah. The foppish little brain really don't know when to draw a line."</p><p>                "But… all this stuff with Risky. It's way too close to be a coincidence."</p><p>                "Working together," Rorschach continues without missing a beat. "Pirate running interference. Adrian's smart. Whatever his interest in this place, would want to keep interlopers distracted. Risky might be false flag. Knows Blake and I are here. Veidt is not psychic. Must be using intermediary to direct monsters. Could be using controller as surveillance." He looks up like he's expecting the eye of God to be staring down at him. There's a moment of quiet as we all stew in the information.</p><p>                Rottytops breaks the silence. "So our only lead…"</p><p>                "Still the pirate," Rorschach answers without looking down. "Need to go to Bandit Town. <em>Now."</em></p><p>                "Are you going to be okay here?" Shantae asks Zapple.</p><p>                "My town needs me. Besides, the Sultana's supposed to be here by the end of the day. We might as well get the dead out of the streets."</p><p>                The girls have a group hug before saying their goodbyes. We start the walk back to the whirlybird. Shantae and Stitches head up the group, getting close to each other and talking quietly. Rorschach matches his pace to mine. "Looking awfully <em>healthy,</em> Blake."</p><p>                "What can I say? Those potions work great," I lie casually. To be frank, I'd rather not have this weirdo trying to cross-examine me right now.</p><p>                "Lot of blood on mouth and chin. Something happen?"</p><p>                "Only got a buttstroke to the teeth."</p><p>                "With a pistol grip? Shotgun looks clean."</p><p>                "Ya think the guy in riot armor was there to do dentistry? He wasn't swirling it on my goddamn tongue."</p><p>                "Not stupid, Blake. Know that the morgue exsanguinated your body." The guy's persistent, I'll give him that. There was a reason he got as far as he did despite being broke and short.</p><p>                "It was a messy fight, Rorschach. There's not much to say. What's this really about?"</p><p>                "Need to know I can trust you."</p><p>                I scoff. "That's never been a problem until now."</p><p>                "Lot of rules changing. Unfamiliar place. Need constants. You're lying to me. Why?"</p><p>                "Do you really need to know that bad?"</p><p>                "Yes."</p><p>                We keep walking, and I can catch snippets of the girls talking ahead. It's mostly Rottytops trying to console the genie. The zombie's alternating stupid jokes and sappy reassurances. If I didn't know better, I'd say they talk like they're married.</p><p>                "Blake," Rorschach demands next to me.</p><p>                I scowl and get in his face. He really wants to know? Fine. "I ate a guy."</p><p>                He draws into his coat, shrugging his neckerchief up higher. "Can you repeat that?" he asks quietly.</p><p>                "I killed a man and <em>ate</em> him. Scarfed down his remains like it was nothing. Wanna know why?" I take his silence as permission to continue. "Every broken bone and awkwardly stitched muscle I got since I died is now fixed. I have blood again. I got back feeling in my fingers. I did it to <em>because I needed to,</em> not because I wanted to. You work with the hand you're dealt."</p><p>                "You… you…"</p><p>                "I <em>what?</em> Made a choice? I know the way you think. Goddamn announced it enough times. You ain't made a hard decision since you put on that costume. You always take the easy way 'cause ya never consider the alternative."</p><p>                "Don't assume," he growls. That stoic moralist façade's breaking, and how satisfying it is to watch him squirm. It never gets old watching the doubt creep in.</p><p>                "Then get outta your glass house before you start throwing stones. Look around. It's only gonna get worse. Either you bury your head an' pretend the situation's not changing or you man up and deal with it."</p><p>                Rorschach deflates, shoulders sagging like he's got lead weights attached to his elbows. "Just needed grounding," he mumbles.</p><p>                "Your 'grounding' oughta be to expect anything. This ain't your old neighborhood. Start acting like it."</p>
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